What Shines Through
by Franrico
Summary: Bastila a Sith Lord. Captured by Reven and mindwiped. However, it is not just a simple reversal of roles: everything in the back story and present has changed- and the very mission itself has been altered by these new events.
1. Chapter 1

This fanfic is directly inspired by LeoGirl19 and Arsenel's own work, "His Spirit, Her Soul". Hopefully however they are different enough that there is room for both on this site. I plan to go in an unique direction with this: there will be many large interesting changes to the storyline, and plenty of small ones, due to me paying lip service to "the butterfly effect" and wanting to throw some irony and twists in. On the massive shifts: basically some of the events from KOTOR 2 are colliding with the first game, and the characters, settings, and villains are all getting mixed together, which means if you haven't played the second one, you will not understand this at all, because it heavily draw upon it's ideas and themes, and at the core is more connected to the The Sith Lords, then to the Bioware version. (this all came about because I did not find it feasible that Bastila was powerful enough to be the leader of the Sith... but The Jedi Exile was... and had the potential to be the main villain- and from there it all fell into place rather quickly and smoothly.)

Oh and when everything seems to be changing, yet some stuff still lazily remains, like they get shot down over Taris on The Ender Spire, even through the ripples should have altered everything, I'm just going to say it's the will of The Force that things still happened that way. That's what's great about writing an AU in a setting with a destiny like magic system- it you sloppily leave some contrivances still in, just say it's "meant to be" The perfect excuse. _Um, Franrico, you said that the butterfly effect would ah touch everything- why are they still flying around in the exact same ship from the first game. That's kind of hard to believe isn't it... _

_Its destiny! *shifty eyes*"_

One final word, there are many revelations to be uncovered, and much of this story will play out like a mystery, with pieces and clues of the puzzle being discovered throughout the journey. A lot of information is being held back, and the characters do not have all the knowledge. Here are two hints: do not assume anything...and there is a point of divergence... one that is of massive important to Reven's character.

**EDIT: I've corrected numerous errors in this chapter. (all thanks to the help from my beta editors!) Hopefully it will be easy to get into now. **

**What Shines Through**

**Chapter One: Sent Back: A New Mind Awakens**

Flashes and flickers, lights and images. A vision warped or altered by the fact that it was delivered and watched in a dream. Fog lined the edges, and their mouths moved slowly, as if their speech was underwater. Yet even then, his voice cut through the dullness loud and clear...

"Look upon me and see desolation!"

"That is indeed what your master advocates" Revan said, while effortlessly batting away and parrying the corrupted Jedi who circled in front of their Dark Mistress, attempting to guard her. "But I sense from you something very different. The Exile wishes her servants to embody the dark dead places in the galaxy - to model themselves after one specifically, and you picked Tatooine**,** your home planet, a place of much misery and hardship, a seemingly perfect choice. Yet-"

He dispatched the remaining three who fought him in a flurry of his purple blade (decapitating one quickly, stabbing the other two) and then swung it down low, pointing at his opponents booted feet, in a ready position. Darth Shan stood before him, terrible and ominous, wearing the turbans of the Tusken Raiders loosely coiled around her face like a set of bandages hiding a grotesque wound, goggles peeking out of the rags showing bloodshot mad eyes, completely covered head to toe in thick heavy blood covered robes. Steam and mist rose and obscured her, making her image waver and appear blurry, as it seeped upwards from metallic apparatuses consisting of tubes and water tanks attached to the plates on her front and back; a battle scarred set of devices (also symbolic of her world; used by the inhabitants to attempt to survive the inhospitable stretches of land) nicked and cut with lightsaber blades, wounds from which the vapor leaked. Her hands were adorned with many pearls on golden rings, and the fingers and toes ended in sharp white claws, ripped from slaughtered dragons within secret caves. Much of her was dry and harsh, her voice was raspy, and her stare went on endless and monotonously, like the dull eternal never changing plains of sand.

Yet, Revan in all his wisdom, objected to this facade, this costume. He was not fooled, or completely impressed. On the flagship of the Sith armada , he attempted one more time to find the secret flame that he believed still burned within, whether it be fueled by the Dark Side or the Light, one that was in dire danger of being smothered by Darth Vuncroy's own particular teachings, a nihilism that threatened The Force directly.

" - Yet, no matter how well you cover it up, I still see the burning sands of Tatooine swirl behind your brow", she threw herself at him, hissing dementedly, attacking with fist and nail, fending off his sword blows with metallic bracelets that caused it to bounce off and flicker, "a hidden passion and dark beauty scurry secretly like lizards beneath the surface", he grew louder and louder, more passionate and sincere, punctuating every point with a blow, "a heart that feels greatly coiled in hibernation like a frog or reptile waiting the cool of night", she ignited her double bladed light saber, and swung it over her head, "a lightsaber itself that glows and bakes with the heat of the duel Suns!"

"Bastila! You may be Tatooine, but it is not dead and neither of you. You glow and shine with all its life and energy! Now that you see this, can't you-" His face was earnest. He was putting all he had, all he was, out there.

"My master knows of this and allows it - I will continue to use the Force, The Dark Side of it, until my Lady fully comes into her own. As long as it serves her, I will use it as a poison. You seek to redeem me to the Light Side with talk of the energy and vitality of life, when I already experience it much more then you, embroiled in the power of chaos and murder!" She smirked and threw a hand up in the air, lighting springing from it. It arched over to Revan, crackling, and he stopped it with his palm, light and smaller bolts deflected away, wildly, in different directions. He looked down sadly and muttered, almost to himself, "There is a flaw within our teaching, then... How can I hope to tempt you back to Good, away from the ways of Death of the mind and soul, with talk of passion, when the Jedi are all about repressing emotion? The Dark Side truly does have more to offer then, in that case... Darth Vuncroy's emptiness was born of the Jedi, and molded by the Sith, and now her hatred of all life is something beyond the both, an anti-force that is beyond good and evil. Her true teachings are not that of the Sith or Jedi... There is only one thing I can do then."

He launched himself at her, all speed and grace and power. The fight was over quickly, but every second eons of offense, defense, strategy, retreat and advancement were cramped. Blade met blade thousands of times, and before it was over centuries of individual warfare, the two of them locked in immortal struggle, had passed. Revan's overworked nerves saw an opening, and using skill that surpassed hers, urged his tired muscles to direct one final assault. Her double bladed lightsaber was broken in half. Briefly she attempted to fend herself with two weapons, but they were sliced out of her hands, and she was struck down.

* * *

Mab Argonberth's dream ended with the mysterious figure falling to the ground, it's clothed face rolling directly into her view, and a tall well built man with a ugly blocky face standing over, looking ominous and forbidding in all black, his tight coat rising and falling as he panted heavily, a purple light saber at his side. She woke screaming and sweating, slicked in a perspiration so unlike what she was used to... that of war

This cold clammy sweat didn't bring up memories of some half forgotten conflict that stretched across the whole galaxy, like her exertions and exercises usually did, but darker more nauseating ones of insanity...emptiness...loneliness... She much preferred the former, even though it filled her with random baseless anger and rage... to this...existential dread. But it seemed that the nightmare terror soon would be covered up, replaced, with the usual normal feelings of simple violent conflict, bizarre faint memories (more sensation, emotions, and stray thoughts) of blood lust and genocides that occasionally sprang up whenever she fought and dueled, danced murder, because battle was calling once again.

For the _Endar Spire_ was under attack.

* * *

She looked up at him with a smile and explained why she was looting the Sith Raider's corpse. "Command took away my blaster away after I kept staring up at the ceiling and shooting the rafters of our room in boredom. Man, long space trips are dull."

The Ithorian chuckled, "That just makes me glad I choose the bottom bunk."

"Don't worry, Haskel, I would have totally kept the muzzle pointed away from you if you were on top- I would have just tried to have some fun by ricocheting it off the walls or something"

"To your right!" he shouted.

She cried, with perhaps more volume than was necessary, and threw the sword, spinning in the air, into a Sith Raider's throat. The pirate, wearing old trooper armor patched up with bulky steal and leather covers, beard and head wrapped with bandannas and strings, collapsed to the ground. She ran over to him and grabbed his rifle, holding it up with one hand pointing vertically and checking to see if it was primed. She ripped a couple grenades off the Sith's old worn belt, and tossed them to her bunkmate. As they sprinted along they discussed the bare essentials of what was going on, now talking in quick voices, the first kill of the battle changing the mood of the conversation. "Why are these assholes attacking? Not for fuel or supplies or anything; they could just rob a trading freighter then."

"This is top secret, they told me (him neglecting to add something along the lines of, "they were going to tell you to, but you were probably off shoving your face with dessert stolen from the kitchen hold - yeah I know you lock pick your way in at night when you want a midnight snack," or "I'm surprised you don't know, you seem to love eavesdropping, what's that you always say, 'I'm a scout, and when you stuck in a tiny ship and can't scout out areas, you start scouting people-information'" showed just how dire the situation was, how much that bright flash of blood had affected them - enemy combatants actually in the main areas - they had thought that the alarm was just something small, like some punks were crawling around on the hull in spider mech suits, trying to drill their way in, or a spy had attempted to sneak an antimatter case in, and they were going to put everyone in lock down to look if he had planted any more or had allies- but then the sound of gunfire started and the ship actually began to rock from cannon shots") only because I work for Squad Alpha-Five - Master Revan is on board. Yup" he said to her shocked face, "He's been on board for a while. No one knows why. It's all confidential."

"But what do they want with The Tactician?"

"If they can manage to kill him, or damage the ship enough that it crashes, Darth Vuncroy, The Exile, will have another powerful Jedi knocked off her list. A few more influential figures killed and the terrorists will be able to spread anarchy across the entire galaxy."

They briefly sprinted down a hallway before seeing that it ended in a large bunch of Sith- they backpedaled as quickly as they could, and continued their mad rush down a different path, the multiple doors and branches all a blur as they ran as fast as they could. Occasionally they would jump in a battle, to help strike down an already outnumbered and wounded Sith, or while running take potshots at the backs of distracted duelists, only firing when the bandits weren't looking or they could get a clear line of fire. Otherwise they made their way down the to the north side of the transport vessel; now that Mab knew why the pirates were attacking, she knew where her friend was taking her. "They're going to hit us with everything they got, all the heavy duty shit, aren't they? Fission and atom bombs, not just lasers."

"Yes - the raiders are just on board to disable the shields and then try to escape."

"Dammit! If this alarm was a Code Green, I would of totally headed to the battleship station right away and launched out into space in a fighter craft; try to buy us some time"

"I know you like to play the heroine, but we were screwed from the beginning - that was the first part they wounded. The hanger's annihilated- a gaping hole leading out into space. Besides, look out of the window- this isn't the right type of ship for that sort of fight, and we're outnumbered!"

She slowed down and stared out of the porthole. The _Endar Spire_ was in the middle of a swarming chaos - hundreds of ships, some so tiny they could only strap one ion cannon on the underside of their steel bellies, others large enough to have multiple turrets hanging off, shooting a steady stream of laser bolts at absurd speeds - all a few minutes ago blended in with the rest of the space traffic ringing the planet and merely disguised as merchant ships or transport cruisers - dive bombed, strafed, and swooped at the hull slowly crumbling under the siege. Escort and police vessels attempted to defend The _Endar Spire_, but in the madness they either fired at each other, suffered mysterious sabotages, or were pushed away by the dense blocks and lines of attacking and confused ships. The spies had spent months infiltrating the business and army fleet surrounding Taris, and now their trap was underway -a quick brutal ambush, an inefficient assault willing to sacrifice many (the sky would be streaked with glowing comets, and spotted with shining flashes, and the habitants would have to endure a flaming rain for weeks) Reinforcements would arrive in a few minutes and utterly demolish them, but that amount of time was all they needed - lights flickered on and off, and sparks exploded from almost every conduit as the power system strained under the pressure or quickly routed energy to other parts without the safety protocols in place.

What Mab saw was the remnants of Bastila Shan's Sith army, and the new way it now fought. When Shan and Vuncroy returned from the Outer Rim, they were at the forefront of a vengeful discontented force of veteran soldiers, and disillusioned, angry ex-Jedi. Like a hot air front meeting a cold, this army collided against the galactic civilization, its peace and calmness, and halted briefly, a visible tension running and trembling down this line, a storm brewing. The war was sparked into action by the news (considered false by the Republic and declared a lie by the Jedi) that the Council had attempted to capture and execute this faction's beloved leader, Vuncroy, and had sent her into exile, for her deeds.

As the conflict continued, The Exile's growing inhumanity and monstrousness could no longer be fully concealed, and much like a sociopath conceals their murderess impulses with a normal quiet life, Bastila attempted to act as her mask of sanity, a intermediary between her and the army, continuously justifying the genocides and massacres with talk of "revolution" and a new order. But like all disguises, even this one eventually slipped, and The Exile and her apprentice could not fully conceal that there were more esoteric reasons for their actions. The final blow was struck when Bastila was assassinated, and the Sith faction crumbled, disintegrating into raiders and pirates and thugs, vaguely enfranchised by The Exile to continue their campaign or simply do whatever they wanted, to murder and pillage, loosely organized by a few still remaining dark fanatics- their ranks occasionally bolstered by evil ambitious force users, twisted assassins trained in hidden secret places, who followed The Exile's own teachings, criminals, gangsters, and soldiers of fortune, sensing an opportunity that this now chaotic mob with no rules offered, and the weak-willed, reduced to little more than zombies, recruited and held under the The Exile's thrall to staff the ancient and debilitated ships and tools of war.

Mab Argonberth understood this and more, intuitively cutting through the complexities, and multiple layers of meaning and shifting alliances, to the simple core of it, and what was really going on. That bewildered her, since the only thing she normally comprehended that easily and deeply was battle, and although this had elements of war in it, it seemed more like politics. But she was beginning to realize, deep down, that this was war, pure and simple, a war of a different type, a war for the galaxy's soul. And what terrified her was it was not a war for the galaxy's soul in the clichéd way Bastila would have framed it in her speeches, not a war for the soul meaning a conflict to decide what path the galaxy would go down, to decide what choices the "soul" would make, but literally a war for the soul, as if it was a tangible object, that could actually be obtained with force, could be bandied about back and forth, stolen and maimed and destroyed and...consumed... A war for the soul of the galaxy in which the soul is the thing that was being fought over itself, not the actions it could take... Mab was beginning to understand why Revan's main stratagem was to simply blockade the populous planets and keep The Exile's flagship away from them, why he tried to isolate her fleet and keep her away in the Outer Rim, and what exactly happened when she managed to bash or sneak or trick her way near a colony... why the news reports were censored, and people spoke of bodies splayed out miles on end, foot to head, laying catatonic or dead, end to end.

An effective way to snap someone out of a gazing staring reverie is to somehow have the thing they look through itself be affected; and it often does seem an appropriate ending when they're as deep in and it's as profound as this one was: their mediation or quiet daydreaming interrupted by a thumping bird against the windowpane, the ominous crash of a freshly dead copse ending the vision with a nightmarish quality, a rippling splash in the once tranquil pond almost acting like a scrying pool, a face suddenly appearing out of the darkness, rain blurring the view, or wind blowing trees to block and tap and scrap - in Mab's case, her calm unfocused daze that somehow began to understand the movements of the ships, and the connection between them, and expand beyond that, to what she could not possibly know, was interrupted by a sharp sound; a crack appeared in the porthole and raced to one side. Immediately, a hatch closed over it, and alarms began to sound:

"LEVEL THREE SHIELDING IS UP. REPEAT LEVEL THREE SHIELDING IS UP!"

She blinked and came back to reality, and stared at Haskel in a slightly bewildered manner, wondering where she had been for those last couple minutes.

"Level Three Shielding is up! If they pierce that and the hull, we'll get sucked into the vacuum! We have to get to the escape pods, come on!"

"What are we going to do when we land on the planet, Haskel?"

"They won't care about us! Besides, this attack is a big mistake, a Republic fleet will come clean them up soon, and then we will just have to wait on Taris until we get picked up."

They ran down an incline, Mab rolling the last few feet before going into a crouched position and pointing her rifle rapidly in all directions, then pumping it violently, a small box flying out of a compartment as she did so. She shoved in a different one, a cube with blue tubes covering it, and then pushed a few buttons on the side. The muzzle glowed a fiery red. She bravely ran ahead of the Ithorian**,** providing explosive covering fire. She paused at an intersection of two hallways, a site of a recent fight where blockades and small pieces of metal propped up to act as shields still remained, and cocked her head.

"Do you hear that?"

"No - should we go the other wa-"

"Hush. Close your mouth. Your breathing is too loud."

"..."

"..."

"Your other mouth to, Haskel"

"Well, you should of said-"

"I thought it be fairly obvious that's what I mean-

"Cultural boundaries, I guess-

"Shut up!"

They finished talking over each other in rushed whispers, and then she raised an eyebrow, a look of recognition coming onto her pretty face. "Lightsabers!"

"Dueling?"

"Yeah - so it's not just enemies over there - someone on our side too. It's safe to head in that direction; if they're evenly matched, the Dark Jedi won't have a chance to go after us."

They ran down, getting closer and closer to their final destination. They could have just gone past, but Mab skidded to a halt, grabbed a confiscated pistol out of the holster, and kicked the button near the bright red door.

"What are you doing?"

"Offering my help, if they need it!"

The rolling circular entryway moved to reveal a female Bith Jedi with a bright blue lightsaber attempting to fend off two attackers, strangely dressed foes covered head to toe in black, metal masks wrapped around their faces with grates for mouths and giant red multifaceted crystal eyes. They both wielded crimson light sabers, and all three clashed against each other, buzzing and sending off flying sparks.

"I can't shoot them - I can't get a lock on them, they're all moving too fast!"

They jumped and spun and pirouetted over each other, the flips and springs happening so quickly it almost seemed as if they were in more than one place at once - leaving images behind of themselves when they already left milliseconds before. Something occurred at speeds beyond Mab's capacity to see, and then the Bith collapsed, holes suddenly appearing that smelt of burnt flesh.

The two assailants paused for a second, looking over the body, and then suddenly sprang, leaped nimbly, each to one side. They landed against the walls and then began crawling on them, hanging sideways like spiders, towards Mab and Haskel. As they moved, sticking on surfaces, defying gravity, the lights blew out, darkness following behind them like a malevolent shadow, a tangible entity that pushed and grew and spread. They stood paralyzed in terror.

There was a sucking sound above Mab, and she looked up. A assassin hung above her and breathed in rashly, and almost as if the air it inhaled was more than just a lungful, as if the act of it breathing had more force then was usual, a few of her hairs wavered and moved, and a couple strands floated up straight in the air. She felt cold, and there was a tugging at her mind and soul, a weak pull that she tried to resist. It landed in front of her, cat like in its dexterity, and its partner, slowly, confidently, ambled up to its side, and stared at her. It moaned, hissed slightly, her cloths now rippling towards it, and a tongue, definitely not human, thick and black, slithered out between the tight metal bars, and then pulled back in rapidly, cutting itself, leaving a few beads of blood on the cold blackness. It paused for a second, and then flicked rapidly out again, the red drops disappearing.

Mab shrieked incoherently, and fired her gun without reason, not aiming at anything, a wild barrage. The two Sith moved and deflected the bolts back, spinning and thrusting their blades. Even so, not all were blocked; a few beams were missed and hit shoulders, legs, scraping and leaving small trails and ravines of ripped flesh. The bolts hit at random areas, damaging the personal shielding and camouflage system: so that those areas rippled and flickered, the parts that deflected the laser now shimmering, some sections because of the damage and stress erroneously turning invisible, so heads floated in midair, and parts of the chest lay unconnected to anything else; a collection of body parts hovering and bobbling. Mab was menaced by a unattached arm, and this only enhanced the fear, only made the figure seem even more wraith like, even more ghostly, even more something not of this world, a phantom from a different realm.

The bolts moved back at the duo, and in the split second of time, without any chance to make a decision, Haskel acted instinctively, and threw himself in front of their course. He was hit, and lifted off his feet in a red glow; thrown back into Mab, knocking them both down.

"HASKEL!"

She grabbed him underneath the armpits, ignoring his wince of pain and cry of agony, and the loose hot feel of the meat beneath her fingers, and began pulling him backwards as quickly as she could, shuffling with his feet, dragging him along on the ground. She only looked up when she heard her friend say in horror, "May the Mother Jungle preserve us... it's The Disciple."

Out of the spreading darkness, that claimed more and more space not as a simply block of obliqueness but in the form of grasping beams and lines of dark, a man walked, a man wearing a pure white set of robes. He was cold and stern, a moving but unchanging statue of ice, remaining the same, in motion but the basic outline, the carved and chiseled lines forever frozen: there was a sense of glacier implacability about him as he walked towards her, slowly and surely, with a certainty that entailed anything in his path would either flee out of his way, or be destroyed completely by this juggernaut, but either way, nothing could stop him. She looked at him, and saw visions of a gloved hand curling around a flower and causing it to frost, children, emaciated orphans with missing teeth and tattered rags, starving outside during a winter storm because of cruel laws and uncaring governments, she saw mad blizzards swirling behind his eyes, and hypothermia in his lips, and understood that under The Exile's teaching, in her symbology he had chosen to represent this, and this was his place in her pantheon of death.

He continued towards them from the opposite side of the hallway, and the assassins who were now standing over them, towering it seemed, as Mab's nerves changed everything into a funhouse perspective, paused for a moment, respectfully deterring to their commander. He ignited a shard of ice, and pointed it at his two soon to be victims laying cowering on the ground; he held it out with a straight arm, elbow locked, gesture steady ( no shake or tremor of excitement caused it to bounce up and down and wobble slightly, or the fingers to snap and twitch and squirm excitably; there was no insane smile on his fair marble face, his shoulders didn't shrug and jitter and throw off the crease and fold of his cloths, or cause flecks and smudges to appear; no string of hair fell out of place {it was monochrome, absent of any color, except for a few strands of muddy gray that looked like dirty snow} his chill biting breath, heated by no blood or heart, didn't quicken almost orgasmicly , and his speck eyes didn't twinkle and glitter with anticipation, no they were a dull hard ice, never melted into tears, or warmed into kind moist pools- he was impeccable, perfect, calm and dull- because the simple matter of the fact was he didn't care, he wasn't aroused, or particularly pleasured by murder, he didn't derive any enjoyment from it- and somehow that was worse, even more terrifying then the two monsters above her who stood stiff and erect, trembling with hunger and lust- at least she understood them, that they were simply beasts off chains, rapid animals whose training was broken and had gone feral, but where was he, she couldn't as easily classify him- and it horrified her)

One of the assassins stabbed a beam of fire into Haskel's heart, and his partner did the same, lancing his side. Haskel coughed up his last breaths, and said as loud as he could, "Run! RUN!" He curved his almost insectoid like arm at an uncomfortable angle and pushed her backwards, so she fell out the door onto her ass. He then hit, with a balled up fist, the button that closed the door. She saw him, as it slide shut, use the last of his strength to grab the lightsaber by its hilt, pulling the assassin's hand along with it for the first few seconds, plunging, pushing it even further into his body so he could grab it with his left arm, and then tear it up hastily through his shoulder, now leaving the wounded limb hanging on by a few pieces of gristle. A blink later, a trail of molten metal moved up the door- what he had done was push the sword further into his chest, so he would be able to reach the handle with his still useful, more dexterous hand, to tear it through his arm and seal the door, hopefully buying her some time.

She ignored his sacrifice hysterically, and pounded on the door, screaming his name, sliding to her knees, fiddling with the controls and tearing up the wire. Her cries where cut short when the blue blade of The Disciple's sword stuck through the door, inches away from her shocked face, her wide eyes, disarrayed hair, and now quiet slightly gaping mouth. Then something inside her snapped and she sprinted away, shrieking and flailing.

As she ran, arms wind-milling madly, it almost seemed as some watcher, some protector, was making the path in front of her easier; green emergency lights flickered on (the ship was now completely dark) the sides of the gently curving hallways wherever she went, and although the horizontal elevator that shot across the middle of the ship was in lockdown, it opened and launched for her; she noted that the reason for it being taken off line was a sound one as the glass box tumbled and rotated haphazardly across the void, the shaft being broken open and shattered in many parts by explosions, so she stared out in wonder and dismay through the clear container into the void of space through the many holes and jagged rips in the hull. The momentum and speed she got from being fired was the only thing that kept her from falling/floating away, and when she reached the end of the line, she didn't stop, but kept going, end over end, bouncing violently into a disordered lobby. She grabbed the emergency hatch, and twisted the melting bar with all her strength, ripping it open and clambering out.

The help didn't stop there, several maintenance routes and catwalks opened up for her, and she had almost reached the escape pod bay (which ran alongside the main control room). It was amazing how much ground she had covered in the last few seconds, surely the fastest one had ever gone on this ship, made more impressive by the facts that she was taking the unorthodox out of the way routes, dangerous cramped corridors and jungles of electrical wires. Just when she was beginning to get suspicious (a third door had simply opened by itself) a harried voice exploded in a rush of static out of one of the still working intercoms.

"This is Carth Onasi! I've been looking after you using the computer system- you've almost made it, you're almost there. Take a right, then climb over the rubble and go through the interconnecting droid storage rooms. I'm on the other side of the door; I've barricaded it, but will open it when you arrive. Avoid mess hall four; the Sith have set up explosives there- and last time I checked there were still some soldiers in the armaments chamber- go the long way! Come on!'

She nodded, hoping the pilot would see the look of gratitude on one of the still functioning cameras (unlikely, since two of the black half-spheres had been shattered, and the others she saw {small mechanic eyes} were either flickering and flashing, gouged out of the wall by craters, or blocked by smoke) and then sped off, on her final stretch, her goal within her grasp. Suddenly, there was an abrupt change to one angle as something massive hit one of the tubular engine decks protruding of the side of the ship, and everything tilted wildly. She was thrown off her feet as the vessel heaved and shuttered, thrown into a wall violently and then rolled downwards, as everything began to point that way, slamming painfully into door, coming to a rest.

She did not have long to lay in a daze, however, as debris and rubble skidded her way. Avoiding it by flipping forward twice and the running at a wall and kicking off so she flew at a ceiling grate, she still did not pause in her mad rush as she gripped the vent and ripped it off, and then pulled herself into the engineer shaft, going hand over hand on the tunnels handle ladder.

Wildly improvising, she took two rights and then a left in the claustrophobic space, and then dropped down into a room, right into the middle of a squad of Sith, on one last mission, carrying a small warhead. Screaming frantically, she brutally rifle butted two in the face, and then shot the third one in the gut, and hearing a regiment of robots coming down the hallways, and glancing at the other doorway, which led into a swirling inferno of strange sticky ash, took a third option and rolled through a flaming jagged hole, through the blaze and into the evacuation room, patting out flames that had burst on her jacket.

As she recovered herself, a short stocky, broad shouldered man walked out to her, and stuck out of gloved hand, grabbing hers and pumping it quickly. "Nice work, soldier" he said gruffly, and paused when he noticed exactly how disheveled she was ( a bloody nose with a thick trail going all the way down to her lip, and completely frazzled hair). He decided to comfort her and patted her lightly on the cheek with his palm, saying in a gentle calming voice, "You were magnificent" his tone now quiet and personal. She stood still for a minute, panting heavily and then began to catch her breath, and inhale/exhale evenly, only occasionally lapsing into a more anxious style of respiration, sometimes gasping and stopping in the middle of talking, to avoid hyperventilating like a runner at the end of an exhausting marathon.

"How many landing crafts are left, Carth?"

"Five; Master Reven sensed three intel officers knocked out in the med bay; he's bringing them back here. We'll take those last two ones and-"

"Wait! We're getting separate pods! Even if there is a chance that someone else migh-"

"It's too dangerous going two to a pod! Their capacity is one person and one person only. The seatbelts, and padding are simply not made for any more- if we try to cram in together, we could get a concussion, split our heads open, or worse- and we need to hit the ground running, we need to land in tip top condition, there are too many spies and infiltrators on the planet to go to a doctor or lose any time resting. Hey, if you get knocked out, I can't drag you to safety."

"But what about the other people- it's worth the risk!"

"No! the reason I was contacting you is because you were the only one with any chance of making it, everyone else is trapped, or too far away. Master Revan and I have shepherded as many people as we can- no one else can be rescued, it's time to leave.

"And what about Revan", she said, slightly maliciously, a contrary argumentative look on her face, "how is he going to get off of the ship! Fly?"

"Kind of." In response to her confused expression his voice rose in anger and anxiety. "Look! He doesn't need one! Ok! Just believe me! He has something else- trust me. Now we have to go!"

He shoved her forward and into an escape pad, while she nodded in a bewildered manner. As a glass panel slid across the back, she stared through it at Carth. He pulled out a small circular disk with a wide screen on it and split it in half, removing one part and sticking to the side of the pod, and said, "This is a tracking beacon. Take it off when you land- I have the other piece. Follow the dots and we'll meet somewhere in the middle and stick together. Talk to no one. Keep a low profile. We only need to stay for a day or two, until the space battle is cleaned up, and the Republic sets up a base where we can go to be extracted. Good luck!

"Yeah, right back at you"

She pulled the seatbelt across her shoulder, and shoved her head back into a small indentation, the cranny closing cushioned restraints around her neck and forehead. Grabbing onto the two handles, in her armrest, she wrapped her fingers around them, and pulled them back, like throttles, activating her part of the launch mechanism. Immediately the pod was shot out, a bullet out of a gun flying across a battlefield, over muddy trenches, and smoking holes, a musket ball swerving and curving slightly through groups of armored knights with clashing swords. She was a human projectile, a cannonball flying towards a dark and ominous fortress, heading through battlements and ramparts of shadow and black sharp gates that blocked her way, to the gigantic citadel that was in front of her. She was ammunition speeding through a desolate chaotic explosive war zone, flying blind and invisible, seeking its target, and she was part of the guns last barrage, the fighter's last stand, the revolver that had launched her falling out of worn cowboy hands, to a dusty earth, scattering the dirt, blood dripping onto its ancient wooden stock, the pistol that had fired her spiraling through the air in an arch as it was blown out of the combatants grip, the machine gun overheating and dropped, glowing red and hot. The duel was lost, and it seemed she was the final shot.

Yet the dead man's aim was true, and his goal and target was not missed- she avoided all the ships and pierced the atmosphere of Taris, shooting through the sky, on fire. Her crash fields activated, and she hit a tower, exploding through the side, leaving a huge hole in the glass (chips of which spun and fell through the air, falling mirrors). She skidded across the office floor she had landed on, people screaming and jumping out of her way, crashing through chairs and desks and cubicle walls, before finally stopping at the far end of the square room, a fiery trail behind her. Shocked workers began crowding around her, or helping their fallen and crushed comrades. The group began to condense, grow thicker, and move closer, and a silent expectant pause fell upon them, until the top of the pod shot off into the air and embedded itself in the ceiling. Mab stumbled out, wrapped clumsily in a parachute, and tripped over the side. She struggled spasmodically for a few minutes until she finally uncovered herself, her countenance ruffled as she scanned the crowd that was looking at her. Then she held her hands out, and began walking backwards, the cloth trailing around and behind her, absurdly trying to pretend as nothing unusual had happened and that she was just going to disappear, never to be heard from again, just trying to become a bizarre incident that randomly interrupted these normal people's lives. She reached one of the doors to the square room, kicked it open, and then spun around and ran down the metal staircase laughing hysterically.

She watched the the dot that represented Carth as she walked towards it in a vaguely straight line; it slowed down frequently, almost to a stop, took out of the way routes, and even at some points went backwards or sideways, sometimes pausing for long periods. After an hour of navigating the urban jungle, Mab was slightly infuriated and had some choice insults for Carth thought up. However, when she finally saw his face (he was wearing a gray trench coat, and a hat pulled over his head; two days worth of auburn stubble had also grown on his cheeks and chin) a swell of relief that he wasn't hurt rushed through her so strongly that she couldn't stay angry. Still, she was the type of girl so in love with her own wit, that if she came up with something good, she still had to say it, even if the mood or moment wasn't right, or the perfect opportunity had passed. She couldn't just let it go to waste, so she would either quote her inner dialogue to the conversation partner with an air of depreciation and a degree of ironic removal, showing how silly (yet brilliant) she was for thinking these things, or modify them slightly, speaking them in a different tone of voice: changing an angry jab to a playful one, showing that no harm was done in the end.

In a gentle, teasing voice, she said, "What the hell Carth? What were all those stops for- potty breaks? I thought they gave you pilots space diapers."

He said dryly, "No, I... I must have used all my space diapers up during the freaking terrifying attack on my ship that I just barely survived."

She looked at him in the eyes, sympathetically: a connection was made, "Yeah, we've been through alot."

They were mostly silent for the rest of the way back.

* * *

They walked down the dingy gray hallway, observing the spiderweb cracks on the walls and listening to the dripping of the leaky pipes overhead. A magnetized bullet train zoomed past somewhere close by, and the entire area shook, a few more pieces of cheap building material (designed to quickly become low rent housing in a matter of days, some kind of strange growing plaster) exploded out of the walls, falling in chunks, or dribbled in dust form from holes in the ceiling.

"My stops were to find a place to stay for a few days (at most)" he added, "until the Military shows up and sets up a secure location. I also needed a disguise... just something relatively simple. I'm in a number of databases... marked down in a couple of files-"

"Well here it is - an alien flophouse., Should be fine enough."

She walked into the gloomy wet domicile, and looked around in delight. "I was so worried about where we were going to stay- and now you find a place like this in the first few hours!" She smiled at him beatifically and practically threw herself into his arms. "Oh, you saved my life- what can I ever do to repay you?" cooing flirtatiously, in a cheesy exaggerated manner.

He chuckled, playing along with the joke and held up a finger with a golden ring on it, "Sorry, damsel in distress... I'm married..."


	2. Chapter 2

_Beta edited with help from GraceSolo and DarthSparrow_

**Chapter 2: Carth and Mab; A Taste of Alien Strangeness**

"Ug" she said, falling backwards onto a stained, spotted gray mattress that lay out on the ground, flat and pathetic.

Carth flinched with disgust and began to say something.

"The only thing worse than soldiers with dead spouses, lost in the war, are soldiers with living ones. Widowers and widows are bad enough, constantly mourning in anguish, never letting go of their grief, holding it deep down within them forever, wanting revenge and becoming paranoid and angry as all hell- and making sure you know it until it's enough to drive you crazy- it reaches a point of being nothing but pure nasal self-pitying whining,- but those with living ones are ten times as bad!" Mab ranted breathlessly, rolling her eyes at appropriate moments.

"They go on and on as well, but instead of crying and falling into periodic moody episodes, they keep on talking in this lovesick, disgustingly sweet tone- like they were just pulled away from this girl, like they were on their honeymoon or something- even if they've been married for ten years, and should know all their faults and problem, they talk like she's the perfect human being, and their feelings for each other are like giddy excited newlyweds. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, and I have to suffer for it!

"They sit there, wondering aloud what their significant other during every second of the day, (but knowing of course, since everything is dull and boring and planned and uninteresting, knowing exactly what they're doing, their little domestic routine, and describing it in excruciating detail to you) wishing they were there fervently, moaning and groaning with the pangs of longing and a broken heart."

Carth watched her, as if viewing a subpar show or performance, quiet, attentive, yet eyebrow raised, hands behind his head, leaning back, slightly disdainful and offended, refusing to be impressed, all this posturing done in a humorous manner; Mab continued on; drawing out some words and sentences and slumping her head forward suddenly at certain moments, dropping her upper body, as if exhausted and drained by the behavior of those she was making fun of, in other parts pursing her lips and speaking in a mocking voice, a high pitched drawl (_moaning and groaning_, almost a taunting parody of baby talk)

"And then something sparks a line of reminiscence, and they begin explaining to you, oblivious to the fact that you just want them to shut up , how she looked, how she talked, the wonderful things she would say, every single characteristics and quirk; every conversation liberally sprinkled with references to this beautiful creature, she did this, she said that, she wouldn't have done that, she wouldn't have approved of this, did I mention- _blah blah blah blah blah_ and then to top it off, if you're lucky, you'll might get to end the mentally exhausting day with having to listen to them moan and grunt like some horny animal under the tent of their covers as they stare at her picture- or if it's a chick, you might even have the privilege to of hearing her have phone sex- if the ship is in range. Believe me; I've been stuck with enough husbands and wives, and fiancés to know."

"How callous of you" he replied, rolling his eyes. "But don't worry, I'm slightly older and more mature then the fare you normally deal with. I won't go insane or overboard with missing her, but I do love her" he looked at her with big sensitive brown eyes; her lip curled slightly, " so I have taken certain precautions- I have a few mementos with me that are enough to remind me of her, and keep her in my presence, to comfort me, when the pain becomes to acute. I'm not some-"

Mab opened her mouth to speak, but Carth lifted a hand to silence her,

"I'm not some "puppy" yelping after being separated from its owner for a few minutes... I haven't seen my wife for over three years." He said it quietly, with emotion but little dramatic flourish or presentation, hoping that it would have some impact with its soft emphasis. "If you can understand why that would hurt-" He walked over to her, pulling up the single chair in the room next to her bed, and leaned over, his manner like a teacher trying to impart some wisdom, or a parent talking about life.

"Then you can understand why this would help."

He held his fingers out, horizontally, level, showing off a golden ring. "It's my wedding band, a pretty common one, not very expensive or rare or well made, but it has built in recollection systems. It can recreate scenes, in hologram, of my life. These scenes have to be pre-filmed of course, and then downloaded in. I don't just keep these on a disk or some video player because there's some symbolism there, you know, having it on my marriage ring. I guess the symbolism isn't as powerful as I would like it to be - these aren't necessary the best moments from my entire marriage, because those happen randomly, unplanned, spontaneous and you don't always have a camera on hand to catch them. But they help, help me remember her, and they're _beautiful,_ her blowing a kiss, her smile, her sitting at the edge of the bed, perky in nothing but panties, cotton sheets piled around her, combing her hair- I had to sneakily film that one, "reminiscing intensely, chucking during some pauses, others filled with yearning", it was so natural I just... could do nothing to ruin it, so there I lay, pretending to sleep, the camera peaking out of a crack in fortress of pillows surrounding my head." He laughed at the memory, his half bearded face crinkling deeply with joy, corners of his eyes creasing.

"A memory ring." she asked, her interest peaked, leaning up slightly from her previous position of a lazy lackadaisical sprawl, muscles completely loose, and limbs splayed out.

He moved it even closer to her face to see, rotating it around and keeping his thumb near a small gem in the center. Her mouth was open in a small cute triangle, and she had a measure of awe in her expression, although at what exactly, and how that feeling was being expressed, channeled, and filtered was hard to tell.

He seemed to blossom under her curiosity, and the small amount of respect caused him to bloom and open up, starting to grow more excited, intent on demonstrating the object, speaking faster and faster about the various specifications and abilities, until, unfortunately, he realized he had nothing more impressive to say, about the the technology at least, as it was not the most up to date model or the furthest one could go down that line of science. This caused him to look vaguely embarrassed, like he was letting her down or had been leading her on which exaggerations and was now beginning to get caught.

"Yup. It just has sight and sound, you know, it's not that advanced or anything," he shrugged apologetically and looked bashfully uncomfortable, "I can't actually have real memories summoned up because that would require a actual physical implantation in my brain connected to the ring, and although it's really small and unobtrusive - I've done the research - it's a liability to have in the military , especially the tactics that are around today. But oh man if I could" passionate, soft toned, and longing, "if I could have full sensory management and direct input, that would be amazing, all five senses: the smell of her shampoo... mixed with when she wears flowers in her hair and was just outside in the nearby meadows... the taste of her cooking and the sensation, the cold click of the spoon as she feeds me desert, one bite, and then grazes the metal across my lips. The feel of sunlight on-" his voice was full of soul, becoming dreamy when he began fantasizing about the modification, and he seemed to have forgotten she was there, his eyes glazed over.

She seemed briefly entranced, but then his mouth muscles began to twitch and she broke the moment by making a retching sound and miming shoving a finger down her throat. "Oh, I forgot, forget one important essential symptom. They all try their hand at poetry, and attempt to slip lines in at the opportune moment." She shook her head and her thick mane fell wildly across her face and shoulders.

Carth blushed faintly but recovered quickly; the power had shifted subtly, now Mab was at least his equal, although she had obtained that position through a move that was a little in bad-taste, socially awkward. Carth was a thoughtful, self-aware man, with a deep strength, and Mab was brash and bold; if the pilot had some intense drive or single minded mission to fuel him he might be able to match up with Mab, to ignore, deal with and dismiss her, by sheer dedication and focus on some cause, but as of now, at least for the moment, she had dominated him through force of personality- although this was achieved rather dishonorably by mocking him in a moment of emotion openness.

"You've never been in love, Mab?", he asked, not as a retort, but genuinely interested, although there was a small hint of defensiveness and hurtful reproach mixed in.

Her brows clouded, and for a moment something, something strangely like confusion slipped across her face, but then her expression hardened, almost appearing like a mask. "Let's just say... if I had a sensory ring, the feelings would be long sweaty nights and hard-"

Carth laughed and held his palms, backing away and looking like he was surrendering "Please..." he chuckled "please I do not need to hear that. How old are you?"

"Almost 22"

"My son is 17. That's way too close in my mind. Yeah, I do not want to be imagining that"

There was quiet for a moment while Carth sat down across the room from her on a bed with springs sticking out through tears, grimacing slightly and resisting the urge to prissily brush it off, using wide limp wristed unmanly sweeps, or fold his hands near his chest, and lift his butt cheeks up, minimizing contact. In the end, he simply slumped down, shuddering, giving in, and realizing that he was probably just going to have to except the fact that insects were going to be crawling on him.

* * *

Mab was his complete opposite, allowing the environment to fully surround and consume her, folding herself out completely and sinking in, appearing right at home, entirely comfortable and not caring at all. This directly contradicted her outer character, the impression given of her appearance, by her porcelain doll face and lithe almost fragile figure; one of a daddy's girl that would fight but complain of broken nails afterwards, one that didn't shout or scream or demand orders but threw tantrums, the kind of girl who would run shrieking at every noise and imagined movement in a place like this, and would wobble tiptoeing through (on heels) as high as possible to avoid the sticky grimy ground. If she was a merc, her collection of guns would all be purchased with her parent's credit card, racks of rocket launchers, pistols, and automatics all bought, not by a solider clawing their way slowly up the food chain and improving their tools of death and what they can offer business partners, but with an unlimited account all at once, a bizarre girlish shopping spree for weapons- if she was a scout she only searched out vacation spots and places with four star or more ratings, or good reviews in databases across the galaxy, if she was a scoundrel, the only scheme she was running was to pout and hope some poor fool of a guy fell hard enough for her.

Or so it seemed. In truth, she was not some mascaraed, painted up princess- the only makeup on her face was all natural, the flush of exertion, a dab of anger on the cheeks, burning intensity sharpening the gaze like eyeliner. And perhaps, even, the wet red on her lips was blood? A taste of battle, a spurt from a dash at the jugular in attempt to quench some hidden rage?

Mab rolled over on her side, and stared at him conspiratorially, confidingly, through messy strands dropping across her face. She had a naughty smirk that widened into a malicious grin. "You know, when you're sleeping, I'm going to sneak over there and steal the ring right off your finger, and replace all the images with ones of your wife taking a shit, sitting on the toilet in the family bathroom. That way, when you go on and on about her, how great and wonderful she is, all her little idiosyncrasies, the specific way she crinkles her nose, how she hums while walking around the house, and you simply won't stop quoting her , mentioning what she would say and do to every single thing, repeating her delightful wisdom and hilarious tidbits, I can just bring up the projection of her on the crapper, floating in miniature and that will hopefully shut you up for a little bit. Bring her down a couple notches, remind you that: there are no goddesses. No one's perfect"

She moved onto her back again, staring blankly at the ceiling, and intoned, in deadpan, "Everyone shits."

She lay for a few seconds silently like some depressed bored teenager, moping in a deep numbing funk, completely limp and sprawled, before moaning, in a complaining dramatic tone, "Oh my god, stuck with as romantic solider separated from his wife on duty. Suicide is preferable!"

Carth shook his head, smiling slightly at the whole thing.

"Okay, this one should be safe."

They continued walking down the line, holding their trays. "No avoid that, it gives most mammals severe stomach aches- oh but grab some of those bread balls, they're really good"

"Un huh, that's kind of spicy- no those will kill you- now some people really enjoy Batavtoodian cuisine, I personally find most of it too bitter, and they serve almost all of it scalding hot- hey, don't take anything without asking me first! I know that looks good, but it's just a giant fungus releasing pheromones to make your mouth water and your mind create a appealing image, that shit will f*ck you up, come on-no-no-no- no doesn't have the right sauce- wait a second- "

She paused talking, biting absentmindedly on some sort of stalk with tiny beady eyes on the end that Carth swore he saw move and then informed, "If I remember correctly, East Andulian food isn't editable by humans, but the stuff from their southern pole is awesome- well as good as anything could be in a dump like this."

Both of them skipped the large boiling pot of strange soup, and stopped at a smaller one. Mab nodded, and the alien serving the meal (some sort of bipedal slug with crab pinchers) ladled out generous helping on both of their plates. Mab's was more of a gooey oozing clump, but Carth got lucky and received was seemed to be the broth; it was smooth, creamy and looked rather delicious. He went back quickly and got a deep bowl, and then pointed at it, gesturing for more. The alien grabbed and dipped it like a pail into a cistern. They walked the rest of the cafeteria table, getting distrustful looks from all of the servers, but they ignored them, and glanced curiously at both the foods on display and the fascinating creatures working there. Finally, they reached the end, stopped their browsing, and found an empty table.

They had discovered this alien lunchroom deeper down in the apartment complex, and decided to eat there- it was too dangerous to leave and go up in the city, to find a more human centric locale, anyone could be watching there, but they definitely felt out of place and unwelcome here.

Man decided to make the best of it, and began gobbling down rapidly large forkfuls of chewy kelp. Carth poked hesitantly at his choices. "How do you know so much, Mab? I'm impressed."

"Well, you pick up a lot in journalism- I used to be a field reporter, traveling the galaxy, gathering information. Mostly I was the photographer for the stories. Once you stay in an area long enough to get the answers to your questions and follow leads, you begin to pick up on the local cultures."

"How did you end up in The Military then?"

"When I realized I was shooting a gun more then I was a camera."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, my first big project that I worked on was the Mandalorian War. As a student and junior reporter, I was heavily involved in the protests, you know, the marches outside the Jedi temple, trying to get them to join the war. I was really dedicated to that. I was sent out to the Outer Rim with a team of really amazing people, legends practically, before I even graduated fully, to try to bring together a couple hard-hitting stories, and get documentation of all the atrocities and massacres that were going on, hopefully to finally convince some to go against the wishes of the Council to stop these terrible events, at whatever cost. Eventually, I was so in the thick of things that they started giving me flak jackets and personnel shielding. Went from that to a pistol."

"Before I even knew what was happening, I was abandoning my observations, stopped quoting people, stopped interviewing soldiers, stopped labeling pictures with captions, and started saving lives, pulling them out of danger when they were wounded, killing enemies, following orders, and taking special missions. If there was a terrible event, I didn't freeze it in time- I interfered. A dying child- didn't write about how much of a tragedy it was- I performed first aid on it. A man about to get executed- I didn't write angry essays and rants about barbarism- I jumped in, no matter what the odds. A tank flipped over when it shouldn't of- I didn't criticize the corporation who built and sold it, go into deep undercover to write an expose- I bashed open the hatch and pulled them people out. I broke that invisible wall between documenting and doing- one piece at a time.

"It just sort of happened." Carth said.

"Yeah, I got pulled in. I just couldn't stand by, not even with a good justification. They needed everyone they could get and I was a soldier in all but name only. My skills and how I started out using them eventually moved me into the position of a scout going on operations. "

"Okay- but how did you end up on _The Endar Spire_? Seems kind of like a big jump."

"My stay on _The Endar Spire_ was to see if I could work in an real controlled environment, one with a very clear set of rules and order- it was suppose to be my final test and if I proved I could they were going to make me officially part of The Military, a high ranked position actually. I had won enough medals and civilian honors for them to offer me this route."

"Why didn't they just send you to some academy to learn how to be an officer there- why the test out in the field?"

"They did actually- but there was a nerve gas attack on my school and after my rehabilitation there just wasn't enough time for classes and universities anymore- they needed to cut a couple corners."

"A Sith terrorist attack? On your school?"

"I- okay, look I know I'm telling these things, but I'm really detached from them, like I'm reading them off a sheet or something. It's all a little fuzzy to me actually- I can't really explain everything to you. Carth, there are large missing bits in my memory and hazy areas- It completely devastated me, I had to relearn to walk and everything. I was lucky I didn't die. I spend the first few months afterwards in a fog, at some Jedi temple- I was getting force healed, and even then I just barely survived."

"Hyrule Byrule..." muttered Carth softly.

Carth sat mulling it over, and opened up his mouth carefully to say something, when suddenly a bright red lobster like creature sprang out of his soup bucket, leaping through then air and swinging it's pinchers at his face. He yelped and pushed back, and the animal clawed at his cheek and grabbed onto his nose. Wrestling it off, he slammed in onto the table, cracking its back and pinning it. Mab had her head thrown back laughing, but when he looked up at her, shocked, and bone white, she politely calmed down, covering her mouth daintily with a hand, stifling the raucous hoots.

"I knew I wasn't sure! I forgot, I got them mixed up- its Northwestern Bavuilivan that is deadly- because most of it will try to claw your stomach open. hahahah!"

"What kind of crazy species eats stuff like that!" he said angrily.

"I know!" She replied, not in the least bothered, her voice airy and eccentric, "Isn't it nuts! You never really understand, deep down, intuitively, just how different xenomorphs are from us until you spend time with them, in their environment, on their home turf."

"I've been to plenty of planets, and I've never had anything this bizarre happen to me before."

"No you've been to plenty of planets with the Republic fleet. It's safe and contained, you're separated and isolated. There's a difference. The supply line and nanoassemblers are still good. You're eating human rations, stuck with your human comrades, in your human bases and building. You never really leave that mindset and environment. To really understand, you got to immerse yourself. Like I was saying, then you begin to understand how unique they are from us. They have a hundred small differences, in anatomy, culture, mind, and you learn these facts one thing at a time. A textbook or information video gives all the basics, but never the small seemingly unimportant stuff- the things that really show how special they are- the things that can never be learned or taught. You only begin to absorb them when you journey and live amongst them. And even then, you can never fully know everything- they will never cease to amaze and bewilder you."

She looked around the room, in wonder, and said, "You can gain so much knowledge by spending time with them." Her eyes began lingering on a few aliens and her smile faded- they continued talking but for the rest of the stay there she seemed preoccupied.

* * *

They both lay in their separate beds, neither of them snoring, moaning softly, or exhaling whistling breathes to give off any indication that they were truly asleep. Carth lay on his side, still up and hiding it, quietly, like a child past his bedtime; he held out his hand and in the palm of it a small, ghostly figure in a pale white dress danced and spun, singing an eerie tone. The ethereal miniature twirled solemnly and piped a few more lines of some melancholy melody, her voice high and beautiful, before a shriek cut through the night, a shriek that conjured up images of a mouth opened in a wide chasm, a black hole, the terrifying sound flying out, of unhinged jaws, and thin lips stretched to a breaking point, a pale thin alien face- it continued growing louder and louder, and something, presumably the owner of it, began pounding on the wall next to Carth's cot, causing it to shake and spill dust.

"What the hell!" he said tangled up in blankets and half falling out of the bed in a combination of jumping in fear, and the ingrained instinct to roll and grab his gun.

"You're disturbing our neighbor" Mab said immediately, wide awake, although there was a thin line of exhaustion cutting through- not necessarily as far as grogginess, but the distinct impression that she would rather be unconscious, but that luxury was avoiding her. She seemed to have simply been waiting silently, watching and listening the whole time, counting the moments in insomnia before something happened. "That's the thing about aliens- like I was saying this afternoon, if you live with them, there's all sorts of things you have to change and compromises you have to make. You see, the lower classes of most planets are completely unsegregated, and since each species brings its own requirements, it can become quite complex, a minefield of issues. Sound is one of those. Each species is different, some very- some are sensitive to certain types of signals, frequencies, some even normal spoken voices. Many wear special headphones when they travel out of their native habit but there are complex modulators that not everyone can afford. "

"Oh... sorry." Carth said lamely, looking sheepish.

"Generally a good rule of thumb is just to avoid any electronically generated noises in a diverse place like this- law of probability dictates at least one race is likely to be harmed by some level of it. Of course, you could always just be talking along, and suddenly you hiccup or yawn a certain pitch, and all of one species around you goes nuts- but that just has to be dealt with as it happens- stuff like that can't always be avoided, it's part of living in this style of culture."

"Wow..." He was dumbfounded, considering the implications and intricacies, "I'm really starting to get it, first hand, how amazing they all are.

"Yeah, they all have their unique traits..."

And then, only vaguely connected to the conversation at hand, seemingly apropos of nothing, although Carth had been expecting it and anticipating it, half dreading it, for he feared it would signal the start of a dam of emotion breaking, for how could he possibly be in the same amount of pain as she must be experiencing, he was the pilot, cooped up in the cockpit, only in contact with the higher ups and Revan, while she, a simple soldier, had eaten and lived with hundreds and hundreds of people, most dead now, some who must had to have been close friends, Mab said something that seemed to have been on her mind for a long time, a delayed reaction, a dwelled on thought that was now being released at a random moment, quietly, out of nowhere.

"Haskel had these ridges of brown bumps under both ears... When he touched them they opened up, unfolded like paper pyramids. I nev-" her voice broke- Carth's eyes teared up empathetically and he squeezed them shut tightly. " I nev nev" she seemed on the verge on some catharsis, but then paused and pushed on, "I never asked him why". She rolled onto her side.

"Are you crying Mab?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Deadened, bland, "I feel empty inside."

* * *

They walked along, striding intently, staring intensely straight ahead. The last button on Carth's jacket was undone and in the opening his right hand was slipped in; Mab had a huge vibrosword slung over her shoulder, fingers on the trigger. Moving purposely across the large crowded space, they headed towards the extraction point- the news had come today that The Republic had seized and quickly fortified an old chemical factory in District 8 of Sector 17. This information was not received through some secret relay on secure channels, or codes snuck in normal broadcasts, or mysterious signals on ancient networks- the location and time was given publicly by a military representative on all major media outlets- the operation was basically this: a mad dash, a free for all rush to the relative safety of the newly established base where small crafts and planes would take them to a detachment of ships hovering over Taris. This was the best The Military could do, they simply did not have the manpower or time to rescue all the scattered soldiers or provide completely guaranteed safe passage. This was why Carth and Mab appeared the way they did: tense, focused, alert, and constantly looking in quick observant jerks at the shadows between buildings, dark forbidding alleyways- at sewers grates and tunnel access points where hatches and manholes seemed amiss and out of place, at high windows, and broken open walls, perfect vantage points.

They were on a large circular platform- underneath were simply rows and rows of gigantic buildings, dark and oppressive, dystopian; if one looked over the edge it would seem to be a land of cruel spikes awaiting one to fall and be impaled. These towers made up the lower city- they were connected together at various points and stories by bridges and balconies and tunnels, for in the earlier ages once the building grew too big, to get from one to another it was no longer feasible to go all the way to the first floor, exit, and enter by walking across the street-instead they all slowly bonded and connected together, a lattice and web of many lines and transportation system creating an almost solid patch of urban land.

Rising above this was the area where they stood currently- shooting through the claustrophobic mess a thin stem held the round city sized terrace, which appeared like some bizarre metal mushroom sprouting out of the refuse from below. These platforms, for there were many of them, were built for the same reason and purpose as the lower cities had bridges: ease of movement from business to business and corporation to corporation. On the platform, one could start over again and build a new tower, smaller and thus easier to go up and down in, and then leave and travel on safe, clean outside surfaces, looming and isolated, separated and fully contained from the rest of the Lower City. Because of this brilliant idea, platforms sprouted across the entire Ecumenopolis, forming a thick roof (the planet from space looked like a water world covered in monstrous lily's) blocking out the lower cities' chance, embodied in the very name of their buildings, "sky scrapers", of ever actually reaching a beautiful magnificent peak, of accomplishing the hopes and goals of man from their very beginning of their evolution, condemning them to despair and fifth.

The higher platforms, for some platforms grew off subsequently lower ones, and were built on light materials, their spindles (ringed with cities and lights, inhabited themselves, appearing like metal poles wrapped in holiday ornaments, or thin fluted trees carved and hollowed out, filled with haloed candles and encased lantern flames) capable of supporting enormous weights, were transcendent, high above everything else like the homes of gods - reaching these pinnacles was like flying in a plane and finally pushing past the clouds, in this case clouds of metal and glass and enormous stages, to that land of sunlight and warmth far above everything- these gorgeous places were filled with gardens and walkways and the ability to go to the edge of the platform and stare across to ones a few yards away, and even get on strange machines that leaped like frogs from area to area, for a luxurious day of exploring.

Up there, everything was constructed out of translucent crystal materials, for they finally cared enough and had the technology to conserve that precious resource, light (by then too late for the lower city of course)

(in fact there was a such a thing called The Sunlight Gradient, managed and calculated by environmental agencies, a series of numbers and ratio posted in every area and level, detailing simply the amount of light that place received at certain hours and times, which was dependent on the cycles of the sun, the position of the location, and the makeup of the neighborhood, the number of buildings surrounding it, if they were tall, slender, or big and wide, or belched smoke, or loomed over with heavy outcroppings - the seedy industrial platform that Mab was on had a thick metal slab drilled into wall with the code 5/2/(9+15) 05 22 on it, meaning that every five hours that general spot received two hours of relatively dim filtered light, not counting the span of time from approximately 9:00 to 12:00- a establishment (and by extension the individual visiting it) were judged on how good its Sunlight Gradient was, high ranked restaurants and lofts and theaters always had excellent ones, and there was a vicious competition (and personnel status war among "friends" to have the finest mansions) to get the brightest spot, sometimes delving into sabotage by ordering the construction of overshadowing buildings, buying gigantic holographic billboards and panoramas, and other sly tricks. The most prestigious area in all of Taris had perfect light from 9:00 to 9:00 every day and it was a worldwide treasure, a beautiful lofty hall, like an eyrir for angels, featured in art, postcards, advertisements, with even space flight and traffic banned over it, in case they cast even the smallest shadow sullied its great proclaimed beauty. )

However, the lower platforms were not wonderful- everything good about the top ones was reversed down there, flipped, a satanic mirroring and twisting, a dark nightmarish reflection; the spaces between were not great (although slightly overwhelming) views; they were abysses filled with blinking lights, red glows, barely seen ominous shapes, gaps where howling chill winds rushed through the canyons of buildings, shaking the very foundations of the lower city platforms, (the buildings were not proofed against earthquakes or similar violent vibrations, and sp they groaned and moaned, moving back and forth fragilely in the gusts generated by the narrow channels and streets) the gales of a frozen hell itself, moaning spirits, or humid tropical places of smothering heat and mugginess, obscene disgusting dirt holes filled with trash, slim, rot, and mold, antediluvian buildings broken open by vines and covered in plants, like jungle ruins, where one journeyed down until they reached dark primitive lands of smoldering temperatures, cramped and boiling, some areas so hot, the skin was melted off flesh and man got lost in delirium for days, wandering among abandoned ancient buildings thousands of years past, a strange maze of dark alien structures.

The further one went what was sky and what was building became impossible to tell, and the stars and moon were blocked out almost completely, creating an artificial, completely unplanned, unintentional roof, until finally, rumors spoke of places, where this covering was so solid and condensed that not one glance could be peeked at all- this same madness applied to the ground as well, up and down were both obscured beyond recognition, one could think they finally found dirt, and the natural soil of the planet, only to heft their pickaxe and break through another roof and another layer of a skyscraper, to step wrong or jump too heavily and fall down into yet another building, until the anxious worrying fear occurred to them in their weakest hours that it was simply buildings all the way down, and each break through this sedimentary of architecture, would only reveal more secret, disturbing lands, more pathetic civilizations of leftovers, progressively more degenerate, twisted and mutated.

And this was the only the lower city, there were legends of a underworld, a place were poor souls were so crushed by this monstrous urban sprawl, they resided in sewers systems, tunnels, junkyards, gaps of demolished buildings, and large courtyards, wintery and freezing, watched over by the very first spires ever to be designed, everything around them build over, abandoned, covered up, and completely brought to their own use of simple shelter; fires lit in prehistoric great skyscrapers, fifty flours up, in offices by broken windows overlooking nothing but darkness., homes in old capital buildings, markets, for what they could scrounge, in the once magnificent meeting halls of business centers. It was said it did not rain there, nothing except dirt, and ash, and trash, and shit, refuse falling from above out of pneumatic transportation tubes, carelessly dumped out of processing plants who did not care where their pollution went, or the countless litter of a consumerist society, creating massive heaps and corridors of garbage in some areas, a springy, mossy floor. It was said no light ever reached, except the eternal burning of industrial fires, like swamp gas, and the vague flashing and blinking of lights above, but even that was rare. There was no sound, even the traffic and bustle high up was deadened; it was a vast graveyard of crumbling stone and corroding metal skeletons, the tomb of Taris' first great megacity.

They were the damned and the forgotten. In Taris, despite the giant towers, there was no fear of heights. In Taris, there was a fear of falling. A strange nonsensical fear deep inside all the nobles and well off, of falling, falling through holes, and the roofs of buildings, and through sewer systems, of falling, like a child in some absurdist book, head over heels, falling into another world, falling into the world of the Undercity, and landing with a rough thump, and becoming one of them- of being trapped in that dark nightmare land- when they looked down deep and far, there wasn't vertigo, there was existential terror!

A shot rang out, twanging mechanically like some odd instrument; on top of a ledge a sniper fired a beam of laser out of a long stock. Carth reacted moments before, hearing something high up, perhaps something small, subconsciously like the scuffing of feet or the shifting of weight, and instinctively threw his torso back, bending his spine smoothly, the bolt of deadly light missing him by mere inches. Mab dropped to the ground immediately as soon as she sensed movement from her partner, and began rolling and crawling.

They both had been expecting something like this - as soon as the news went out, every Sith on Taris would be gunning for the soldiers, finding good hiding spots, trapping narrow streets, trying to herd people into dead ends and kill as many as possible- the only reason they did not start sprinting right away was because they were afraid their panic, like the scent of fear from an animal, would attract more attention, a flurry of missiles, bombs, and darts- now they ran anyways, for they were only a few yards away from shelter, the last stretch. No more regulated breaths, and stiff ramrod straight movements, with jerky head turns and short bursts of clipped talking out of the corners of their mouths- it all went out of the window, the tense exactness, and they no longer cared if they drew the eye of every assassin with their panicked fleeing.

But no rain of fire came - the sniper must have been a lone operator, and the rest of the saboteur forces spread out around the entire block- a theory proven correct by the loud bangs, explosions, and sounds of chaos coming from all around. They rounded a corner and finished the final leg of their dangerous race, coming into sight of the old chemical factory- it was large, rectangular, blocky building, the top dominated by two impossibly gigantic smokestacks, from which strange, almost magically seeming jets of green flame shot periodically, making rushing noises. Coming in at all angles where lines of harried people, wounded on crutches and with bandages around bloody foreheads, the ragged and torn, some who seemed to have suffered much worse than Carth and Mab, and some who seemed positively bored- while others had shifty frantic eyes and worried scared expressions. They came in groups of two and three and four, some in large packs, others stragglers, some with odd equipment, some pulling carts or in hijacked vehicles- any means necessary to get there, all carrying stories of adventure, the place becoming a melting pot of deeds and retelling of tribulations- there was no one grand consensus of what occurred for all of them- each experiences their own great quest, nuanced and individual, no matter how unimportant it seemed to others.

Directly ahead of the building was a huge, thin, almost 2D green face, which spoke in a booming ,yet calm and measured voice, almost unnoticeably turning, shifting slightly to new arrivals and informing them where to go. At this exact same moment, zooming at one of the sides, came a primitive truck, a terrain based vehicle with "wheels" that looked like a cross between tank treads and tires, hardly ever fully circular, reshaping and remolding constantly to better fit the ground on spokes. A soldier on high in a gun nest turned his Gatling cannon towards it, and began screaming, vibrating and shaking, shooting a speeding volley it's way. It made it far enough, however; it tipped over and spun end over end a couple times before flying into a fortification wall and exploding into massive mushroom cloud making a huge hole in the side of the building; it was a suicide bomber.

Carth grabbed Mab roughly by the arm and pulled her through the throng, dodging defensive soldiers and clunky droids spraying thick streams of water. He brought her halfway around, and at the entrance of a narrow alleyway into the building, there was a single file line terminating in a desk with a bored, nonchalant looking officer (pale skinned-blond pompadour) with a holopad and a quill stylus.

"You should be fine here. They'll get you out safely... Well... this is where we part ways" said Carth.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Look- Revan was on board _The Endar Spire_- no one knows that for sure but me."

"Haskel-"

"There's a Squad Alpha-Five in every fleet. It's all an elaborate scheme. Think about it - one man is hunted by the might of an entire army, no matter how scattered and ill-equipped it might be. There is a brilliant game of lies and ruses going on here- holograms, doubles, false information, fake leaks, hoaxes, actors holding press conferences, anything to throw off where he really is. He's a master manipulator; you have to expect something like this. There were four convoys around this area - the pathways and routes of all of them heading through relatively the same location, closer then they have ever been before, and rumors pointing to and contradicting that Revan was on all four of them. Three days ago, all four were attacked at once. The Sith waited until they were all in the same area. They must have figured out where they were heading, and then infiltrated the air space there. This represents months of planning alone- I have reason to believe Vuncroy's flapship is in the exact point in between all of them, the same distance away from all them, hiding behind the moons of this group solar systems, waiting until she's absolutely sure which planet Revan is on. You see, these four ships were all shot down in the same sector, all over planets. When she knows which one he's on, then she can move. If she is right, the sacrifice of her best ships, for surely they will be obliterated seconds afterward she makes her attack, (you know how they work) and most of her fleet will certainly be worth it."

"Ok so what? What does this have to do with you?"

"I told you! Don't you understand, I'm the only one who knows for sure that Revan is here! There are secrets and rumors, but I am positive. I'm one of the few. He talked with me and the captain personally. He told me, he told me that The Exile can sense him somehow if he uses his full might and strength, and then she'll have confirmation for sure and completely destroy the planet. I don't quite comprehend it, but he actually told me that she wants and needs to destroy planets, but it's too big a waste if he or someone else powerful isn't on it. There's like a witness protection program for powerful Jedi - they have to go to frantic chaotic places, full of interference, and not use their abilities, or they have to be constantly guarded and in the center of Republic space, so she can't penetrate. He doesn't have a fleet to protect him, so can't use his full talents. So if he's in trouble, he's stuck here, just like a normal Jedi. I have to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Why you? Can't you just tell somebody here? Why are you just running off without even checking in!"

"I can't tell them to send a team of commandos, or a special strike force, there are spies everywhere! In headquarters, assistants of Generals, hiding in meeting rooms. A full fleet can't come and guard the planet either; in the time it takes one at full strength, not just a detachment or patrol, it might be too late. And even then, Vuncroy might decide to try to break on through. The risk might be worth it! We can't allow that! It has to be me, without prompting, so the information is not compromised through a command line. I have to make up my own mind right here right now, spontaneously without prompting. Even if I'm just a normal man, Revan might be in danger- I have to help! My assistance might push the odds in his favor- he's escaped plenty of times before with the aid of ordinary men while his hands have been tied by The Exile watching. I don't understand completely... it could be The Force. Through coincidences, I could save him, be drawn to him. It's an enigma."

"Well then, "she said stubbornly, hands on hips, "I'm coming with you."

"No - you need to get out-"

"How do you even know you're the one that's suppose to save him. The Force works in mysterious ways doesn't it. Maybe it's my destiny and you're tagging along with -_me-_," thumb pointing at chest" not the other way around. Besides" she said austerely, nose upturned, "I might as well stick along if The Force is as incomprehensible as you say it is- I'm an enigma too. Me and the force will get along _perfectly."_

"You certainly are an enigma, Mab Argonberth" he said, shaking his head.

**NEW QUEST: FIND REVAN**


	3. Chapter 3

_I think it's time to give out some useful background information; obviously I won't be revealing the background information to this story; that will be shown through the plot and dialogue. But in AU fanfictions part of the fun is seeing how it differs from the real universe. The problem is, at least for me, the timeline of the KOTOR games was never perfectly clear. Obviously we need a solid base to work from. I don't want anyone to get confused or come to wrong conclusions- so here is the timeline I will be using and came up with- I tried to be as accurate as possible- must of the information is from Wookiepedia._

_When Revan joined the Mandalorian Wars he was 18, about to turn 19. Bastilla was 14. _

_The Mandalorian Wars went on for three years. Near the end, when they were winning, most of the battles took place near the Outer Rim, as the army was savagely hunting them and driving them back._

_Revan learns off the True Sith Empire, and voluntarily falls to the dark side. _

_Malachor V_

_The end of the war. Revan's entire fleet disappears and explores the Unknown Regions for a year._

_After they return there is one month of tension, with small skirmishes and demands, and then the onslaught begins._

_After two years, Revan is captured._

_One year later, The Ender Spire is attacked. Bastilla is 21. Revan in his new identity has just turned 26._

_Now remember, this is the old world. The new one could have completely different dates._

**Chapter Three: The Search for Revan**

Carth and Mab sat near each other on close bar stools, heads together, whispering and gesturing quietly to themselves, as many members of the same species did in the canteen - sticking with each other less they got overwhelmed by the sea of alieness, little enclaves of the same race, creating fortresses of thick wooden tables pulled side by side, societies of two three and four, holding court over dark corners, ruling feudalisticly over specific bowls of snacks and food, controlling and demanding toll on the cramped pathways past or through their crowd, (the price of passage rams, sneers, and intimidating rebukes) normally only giving free way waiters and dancers, glaring bumping, and shouldering anyone else who tried to inch around or continue walking, unobserving of the customs and territories.

They were hunched, bodies pulled together protectively in themselves (contracted fetally) and to each other, (only inches apart) looking at the all purpose computer screen on Carth's lap, occasionally glancing up, (never to peek around nosily at their surroundings of course, or try to observe anyone, they were in their own little world, and to the highly segregated mentality, something like that would be akin to spying, or betrayal of the tribe- no, in a place where nudging an xenomorph when grabbing your drink could either lead to profound embarrassment or extreme violence, depending on the politeness (crippling) or aggressiveness (psychotic ) of the individual, the only place they looked was at the television screen, avoiding eye contact and crossing gazes, or pensively within the grimy reflections of the bartender droid's chrome plates-they were pulled up to the main bar, and to do anything besides this, to look off to a side, if it was a crowded shoulder to shoulder day, could invite danger- to avoid this everyone had to have their eye (s) focused intently on something, or be locked into deep exclusive conversion) scanning the news, half listening for anything that would peak their interest- be of value, however unobvious, however hard to fit, to their mission. Carth moved holographic markers around, placing them on points of the map, and did the same with mathematical equations and symbols, occasionally uttering a command that would make the whole thing project into 3-D, offering a better view and a more exact manipulation of the representation of their work so far- and the problems they faced.

Early on, the pilot had explained how exactly they were going to go about finding Revan- gone into detail for Mab's sake. Each pod (there were fifty of them and due to Revan's and Carth's heroic efforts all fifty had launched) was fired in a specific direction decided by a locked computer onboard the Ender Spire- this route through space and atmosphere, in what direction and at what angle the craft would be aimed, was calculated in battle so the craft would have the best chance of avoiding all the enemy ships and other obstacles (large explosions, blooming and blocking passages, allies, force fields, stretching wide like planes of glass, or elongated plastic across the way, floating wreckage and chunks of debris and planet). A pod fired right after another, due to the similarity in the makeup of the space at that time to the snapshot that affected the previous pod a few seconds ago, since not many features of the field of war would change dramatically, no matter how fast paced the conflict was, in that elapsed period, would most likely follow the same route and end up nearby- basically, both pods would, on the ground, be close to each other.

Using this practical knowledge, Carth had recorded the identification serial numbers, for future use, of the last three pods meant for the the officers in the Medbay, since after Revan put them in he would most likely abandon ship as well, and since Carth seemed to believe whatever device he used to reach the surface also possessed the same hardware of analysis and dodging (he was remarkably closed lipped and mysterious to what this actually was), these three pods where the best indicators of where he was now, possibility the only true way of going about finding (or at least narrowing his location down, getting a head start, a hint of his location) the Jedi Master in a efficient, strategy manner. In the end it may not be the best, quickest method, but it was the only logical way of doing it besides relying on luck, (all they had otherwise was searching for one man himself, who might even be captured, unconscious, or otherwise incapacitated, and unlike the crafts which were inanimate and unmoving, which would be even harder then looking for three highly conspicuous pods out of fifty) and results could be seen and measured, progress could be listed and checked off.

Listening to rumors, gossip, and reading more factual reports, asking around, surveying from high above and in rented aerial drones, investigating crash sites and signs of damage, questioning scavengers, journalists, and eyewitness - through all this- the team had already found seven pods- (although unfortunately none of them were the specific ones they were looking for)

A small tube lying in a crater deep within the lower city, glowing green and radioactive- it had obviously hit the surface of some kind of waste storage vault, causing the cement cap to crack open, the dangerous substances bubbling up and frying the person inside- who's skeleton shined through the opaque metal of coffin now surrounding him.

A capsule pulled laboriously and hidden behind a dumpster, under trash; the survivor had obviously known the harm of leaving it out in the open, had known what could possibly be done with it, what in fact Carth and Mab were attempting to do now; another one treated in much the same vein, lifted (with prodigious strength and dedication, this person had had incredible loyalty to The Military even after all seemed lost, and everyone on their own) into an incinerator; Carth and Mab only found it after hearing complaints of banging within the walls, crackling sounds echoing through vents.

A pod going round and round an abandoned factory on a conveyer belt loop, (unsteadily situated sideways, almost falling off, tipping and wavery, unbalanced, on the moving strip) a copse half hanging out (face twisted and melted like an old Halloween pumpkin, hit with some kind of poison and toxin before getting in -cracked open and covered in dried blood) banging its head every time it went past a certain point (the metal side of the square tunnel it moved through for part of the circular journey), senselessly over and over again.

One imbedded in the side of a building- Carth and Mab stared at it, opened up completely, filled with empty water containers and canteens- the person inside had either been rescued eventually be some civilian craft, dehydrated and in their desperation tried to climb/move along the slick surface of the skyscraper, or plummeted to their death

Vessel tangled up and hanging on electrical wires, holding its weight like jungle vines- inside nothing but a severed arm, crispy and burnt, black cracked skin

Underneath a tarp, on a truck bed, in a rainy military base of Taris' sovereign planetary defense- Carth and Mab had snuck past barbed wire fences, wet coat hoods pulled over faces as they slid along walls, dodged regiments and patrols, and ran past searchlights, finally making it past all the barriers and guardians to find the spacecraft, taped off and locked away- they had also discovered video feed in another further room of a large white furred multi eyed creature carrying two cone headed, smaller than usual, almost dwarfish Gotal's under each arm, away from the burning pod, (presumably the one currently in confinement) which apparently had been struck at the tail end by a direct hit from a ship's cannon.

From all of this, Carth could discover nothing too useful- perhaps a math prodigy of extraordinary proportions or a droid could somehow piece all these random facts together holistically to learn something of the battle overhead, going in the opposite direction, in reverse figuring out its makeup and all the positions, a few scattered parts of the puzzle somehow combined together in a brilliant analytical way to form the big picture, and then taking that information, and applying it to where Revan's pod would of launched at a specific time- but the best he could do was use advanced calculus and trig, arithmetics learned for piloting, so specially focused on spatial elements and 3-D geometry, to predict where other nearby pods would be, and what clusters would look like. Mostly, however, this got them nowhere in particularly, and anything else was beyond Carth's mental capacities, so they went the pure brute force route, simply going down the line, looking at everything they could, not expecting any luck or intuitive leaps. At the moment they were in the bar following leads, recording what they had found and learned so far, and its implications, and planning their next move- two other pods were on their radar at this time- one inside some kind of massive turbine, a giant cylinder multi layered with each section filled with rotating blades, the blades dividing the levels, each one whirling and slicing, and at the trash and paper filled bottom, a severely banged up (hit every one of the way down and was bumped and dented) pod lay there at rest. Extraordinarily they had found this out from listening to a solider describe it to his comrades- how he was lucky to be alive after falling into such an unfortunate landing spot- apparently he had found a small, almost fairytale like door on the edge of the thin aluminum. The other was a pod in some dirty ravine between buildings- Mab bounded off the skyscraper next to it, using a rope and slowly lowering herself down by pushing off with flexed legs, but half way there, vertigo had overcome her, and she began feeling uncomfortable, shrieking, losing her hold and bouncing off the wall. They had decided to wait on that- come back later and find a different path, for both were very nervous and almost incapable of doing so. She had noticed as she was blown back and forth, and rotated slightly, spinning around like a rag doll at the end of a noose of some cruel child, that the pod was being stripped for parts by moving rags and crawling cloths- an informant said that he knew who had the piece with the identification code on it- the whole thing was being cut up and sold on the markets, each booth getting a different, practically worthless part- and was coming up with the merchant to show it them. If they knew that it was not what they were looking for at all, the failure due to fear could be put to rest and they could move on.

Carth felt a tap on his shoulder and thinking it was the person that had spoken toand set the meeting up with, turned around, only to find an Ithorian, shrimpy, with pure white skin, shriveled and pruney, and with the rare deformation where its head was turned forwards, straight to back, instead of like a hammerhead, eyes on each side of the tube. This disfigurement was so strange and bizarre it looked injured, like its neck had been snapped in some accident. It was looking lecherously at him, like a salesman, trying to make some deal. They knew at once what was going on- Carth rolled his eyes and signed, "Not again" while Mab simply raised her eyebrows slightly.

"I see you are in the possession of a female of your race" the Ithorian said formally, bowing slightly. "I was wondering how much it would cost for me to buy her from you?"

"I think you misunderstand our customs, my friend" Carth said ominously, while slowly moving aside the edge of his duster, revealing his blaster in its holster.

A look of confusion spread over the stranger's face, but nevertheless, it backed up at once, nodded curtly, to Carth, and turned on its heel, walking away.

Mab took one look at Carth's crumpled, grouchy face and said, "I think it's funny"

"Yeah maybe the first or second time- but it gets kind of old after a while"

"You don't find it hilarious? Some lowlife idiot of a young alien looking to make a name for himself, tells the mangers of the slavery/prostitution ring that he really get's humans, maybe even has a degree in them and their culture from some prodigious university, he's a doctor, practically, and to let him handle everything in that area from now one, just leave it hand's off- and yet every single one of them makes these crazy assumptions just from watching some award winning drama on the holonets about human miners on asteroids, their tough, depressing existence, dealing with the pains of life, and the grim, gruff man tragically taking their anger out on their wives when work just gets too much, you know the ones with pathos that everyone feels smarter after watching and likes to talk about the next day, and that's they're only exposure-or they make trade routes or even crash land on some planet where humans are still in the stone age, and walk around pulling their women along, in loincloths, banging them on heads and dragging them to caves- because they either nuked themselves to oblivion or suffered some other kind of strange end of the world that are scattered amongst this universe of ours- and just think every single human culture is like that basically, just a little more advanced, - or they even stumble upon some hidden group of fundamentalists and cultists, weird backwards traditions condemned by the Rights Symposium and blockaded by most Trade Federations, spend a couple days there, and now pretend they're experts because of it. Of course, there's always the possibility that in their race, the males have huge teeth, giant horns, or wings, and they lord it over the females, ruling them completely, and so they just transfer their society's rules onto us- assuming it's like that with everyone, using your beard or bigger biceps as proof" she said, squeezing his arm fondly.

"Well, hopefully, just to be fair, one of these days someone will try to buy me."

"Yup... probably one of the insectoid races... hehe, and she'll slap you across the face, a backhand, if you try to talk. I'll be the sole person in charge of communicating then. You know a lot of bugs eat their mates... maybe she'll think her human customers want to be in a snuff film with you or something"

"I trust you'll defend me then?"

"You better believe it- I got your back" As she said this, she pulled out a large rusty dagger, old, curved, and thick, and stabbed it into the pitted, scared bar- one that still, despite all its marking, shined with slick lacquer.

She looked at it, satisfied, pleased with herself for a moment, pulling on it, and rocking it back and forth in its pit, and then paused and said, "wait did you hear that?

"What"

"The holovid- the news is in Nautiloidian now, but I swear I understood a couple words, something that might interest us. Go to the projector, change it into Human Vocal Range- or if they don't have that, Basic"

"Mab it's behind the-

"Ah who cares, you think the droids going to give a shit-"

'Yeah, but what if people are listening- I don't think they would take kindly-"

"Bah, you know how many bars I've had to shoot my way out of? It's part of this life- you want to play a simgam, you want to butt in line and get a drink in a reasonable amount of time, you want to get a nice spot- you have to take the risk of pissing someone off. Now go do it"

Carth walked over hesitantly, looked both ways, and then hoped the knee high partition. He moved along the rows of taps for a little bit, then crouched down, and scuttled forward, fiddling with a large, inefficient looking brown box underneath the floating screen. After trying turning dials, and pushing round, dopey buttons, he moved onto hitting it with a closed fist on the side- the first manipulations seemed to have no effect on the admittedly old tech.

"Voice of Man what we looking for?

"Yeah, just another name for HVR- turn it, man."

The screen (displaying a professional looking Nautiloidsitting at a desk, with a light blue background, head tentacles braided and wearing a scaly green suit open at the chest, reading off a small computer as squid like creatures drifted behind, pushing their tentacles together and propelling themselves playfully) wavered, flickered, went to static for a second, and then flashed into a new mode- numbers and letters scrolled down all sides and at all angles, and in the center a vague (yellow and glowing) human outline spoke clearly, but robotically.

"They couldn't even personalize it? said Mab, as Carth backed off slowly, eyes on the program.

"A trail of death and destruction continues {UNTRANSLATABLE}!" it beeped suddenly, cutting itself off in a mechanic bleat, before continuing "this line is moving in one direction, northwest, through the lower city at a steady pace. It is unknown at this time what is causing it or when it will stop, but casualties are high, and authorities are looking into it. In other news-

"This is it, this is what I heard, coming up"

"Chaos in District Twenty of the lower city! A well known hotspot of gang violence, tensions between the Black Vulkars and the Beks have erupted into complete war, with whole sections losing power, outside access, and communications. The conflict, after recent treaties and territorial agreements, started suddenly six days ago, with the mysterious failure and explosion-"

"That sounds suspiciously like how Revan works."

"-More at ten!"

"Looks like our search is over"

* * *

"Ug, it's so hot and stuffy in here"

"Well you know- all the buildings are so cramped together, plus you have these generators and machines with their heating having nowhere to go- I would said crack a window, but most windows open up on the scenic view of a brick wall"

"The tenements courtyard, eh"

"hahaha- It seems like only Aliens would be comfortable down here, lizards and slug like creatures."

"Actually, yeah that's a good point, they can survive rather well, it doesn't bother them. It fit's, it's like home. Most of Underworld is rumored to be filled with this terrible creatures, things you would normally only find on jungle worlds- but that's just the mass phobia that everyone seems to share, I've learned. You know, to think about, that's probably why the Lower City is filled with mostly xenomorphs, a higher ratio of them to homo sapiens. Why it's so diverse; they're good down here, environmental wise, while the humans on the other hand only really thrive in the Upper Areas. So this kind of unintentional segregation takes place, until it becomes so set in stone they make it a law; they don't want to get crowded out, and the nobles figure hey if the aliens can survive down here perfectly fine, why not make it a rule that they have to stay- after all if they live in the Upper City that's less room for humans so why is it fair to let them go everywhere when everyone else can only live in specifically limited spots; that's their reasoning at least, their official justification (while in truth, deep down, it's just specism) So in the end, they're confined to these unhealthy, rather unaesthetically pleasing areas.

"Oooo- someone been reading up, Carthy-boy."

"Well... yeah... I've taken your advice to heart- just a couple entries in the galactic dictionaries though"

"Hmmm, I did actually recommend getting out there, not just reading-"

"I think I prefer that style of learning- its leaves less bolt holes"

They walked along in the crowd, using the strange art of osmosis, where they pushed forward gently, seemingly not moving at all themselves but in motion through the collective process of the mass, gradually squeezed and melting through to their destination, another crowd more likely, that as they popped through one barrier, would be accepted and enveloped into another one without ever knowing it, absorbed by groups of people, gently permeating the membranes without ever knocking anyone aside or bothering them, (it was no chaotic bustle and hustle, people were peaceful and there seemed to almost be a benevolent intelligence to the whole thing, a hive mind that saw to it that everyone got to their destination eventually,) a close touchy feely, no personnel space affair - another metaphor would be digestion, a stomach, intestines contracting and through rhythmic pulsations sending them to where they wanted to go, their will controlling and directing the entire almost biological process. And this comparison was extraordinarily apt- it was an intensely physical proceeding; when they emerged into a relatively empty gap between the clumps and bodies of people, a brief space to breath and collect themselves before diving once more into it, Carth held his hands out extended to his sides, slime dripping from his fingers and running along the sleeves of his coat; Mab was moist and beaded with drops of liquid as well.

"Yeah that will happen" Mab said apologetically, wrinkling her nose in disgust

"I think I'm pregnant" Carth said, trying to keep in good humor.

"Unfortunately that's not something you can joke about. I can't count the amount of times I've almost gotten pregnant"

He blanched.

"It because, you know, segregation of the species is actually a solid, logical idea, not just reactionary- living together we spread disease and sickness and our strange unique traits infer and aggravate each other. And you have to realize just like the universe is infinite meaning anything is possible- there are so many sentient races, when you put us together a lot of things that seem weird can happen. And sure- there are a few species, that when they come in contact with us, they might not even be humanoid, but just something matches up, we can get impregnated, well not as we would understand the word, it hardly ever you know goes the usual route, at some point, something bursts out where it's not suppose too..."

Carth was speechless, slowly turning green, the smile fading of his face.

"You brush up against them, touch a certain part of accident, get a puncture in you suit, or even breath the same air sometimes- and you know it's not even they're fault most of the time, they're not perverts running around raping people- although there are some that just explode, literally, trying to infect anyone in the vicinity- I saw this thing once, resembled a pine cone, or a giant lump of dead plants, shake and then all its spikes and leaves just flew in the air- it got arrested and committed for that! So there' s the stuff like that that can happen, things of a parasitical nature, but don't worry, I've been to worse places, trust me... ok, but this isn't one of the best- all of us in one spot together- it is dangerous, a recipe for disaster. Normally I get shots and briefings before landing on a planet of even one species- but this right here... we'll really need to go into quarantine afterwards. I've been looking at some of the human beggars, the really poor people, and some of them, have these rings on their necks, or are vomiting up little- I don't even know how to describe it, flukes or leaches, and the women, I feel so bad for the women, you know, because they got this whole fertile region already set out- and some of their stomachs are-"

"Stop" Carth said, pulling at his sweaty shaggy hair, looking completely overwhelmed with revulsion and the possibilities of reality, the horrid aspects of it, an almost obsessive worrying and terror that these things existed, and could happen to him, a terrible realization. "I think I'm going to be sick"

"Sorry man, sorry. Don't even worry about it, ok. Once we got off here, they're going to flush our systems ok. Clean us right up; no matter what happens we'll be fine later But you're spot on, this is a terrible shithole. It's gross! You can't cram people together like this! Especially when they're of different species. This is a major problem."

She walked along with her hand on his back reassuringly, along a different blessedly clearer hall. "This isn't right." Carth said, finally speaking up, shaking with anger. "Everyone knows this is happening, why isn't anyone doing anything about it? The Republic has to step in. Cramming them down here, it's practically like murder."

"Well, you know, better than anyone, they have a lot of problems on their plate. But they're generally good people. Hey, maybe someday, when you retire you can come around with your flipper worm baby and raise a family here. hehe"

"Seriously Mab just drop it." he said harshly, annoyed, "Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss."

The corridor they were now in was like all others, drab, industrial, and small, terrible for walking, and terrible for fighting, close quartered and with no room, both which happened in abundance here. Niches were broken, carved, smashed, and tunneled into the walls for small stalls (the fronts made out of cardboard and sheets of metal, the more effluent ones scrawled with dripping paint with the names of the establishments) and houses, sleeping quarters consisting of nothing but hammicks

at their worse. Swinging beds also crisscrossed along the very pathways, nailed hanging to the ceiling, and the whole thing had the feel of a small rusty old ship, lived in for years by a large group of people and made a home. It was very ethnic filled with hawking merchants, scolding mothers, and screaming children , crying in words not even researched by the Coruscant linguists yet; the air was thick and spicy with cooking, mixed sadly, with the opposite of all this life; dust, dirt, and stale air. The walls and floors were stained, people brook out into fistfights and song occasionally, chanting strange tunes joyously, animals ran lose, their escape either ended by a butcher knife to the skull, the blood splattered on the floor unhygienicly, or caught in clever cages, ingeniously made out of obscure materials, wound and twined together. Those lucky enough to have doors, opened them, constantly pooping out like moles out of a hole, shouting into the crowd friendly greetings, orders, or ripostes to overheard comments and conversations, one-liners with perfect comic timing, eliciting roars of laugher from the mob- which only enhanced the sense that the whole place was one big community.

Over the hordes in this area, since it was gang territory, swoops, floating vehicles, (resembling primitive motorcycles with hover pads underneath the seat, and repulsers in the front, extended away and held up by a thin metal set off bars) flew low overhead terrorizing people, grabbing them by their hair or arms and lifting them for a few seconds before dropping them, throwing small firecrackers and flash grenades startling everyone, laughing raucously and hooting, doing that which had given them their name; swooping done on innocents like bird of prey or bats clawing, and pulling at them, knocking them off their feet and unbalancing them. They were amazing versatile, able to reverse, stop at moment's notice, and dodge beams and obstructions dexterously, expertly spinning and tilting. Incredibly however, the crowd was large and placid enough, most simply ignored it and accepted it as a part of life, continuing on their submissive, acquiescencing way.

They turned another corner, into a larger, more expansive area - it had a high vaulted ceiling and curved walls- and up above in the bigger space of air beneath the flat roof, more bikes looped, circling overhead, diving bombing and strafing, dipping and plummeting almost completely vertically straight down, before pulling up. As they went down a flight of stairs, they realized the drove was beginning to space out dramatically-anything beyond this point must be filled with more thugs and hooligans that even the all yielding population could handle nonchalantly, without sign of repressed rage or fear- where the crimes were beyond tolerance, things worse than simply shoving tiny bombs into rust bucket droids and watching the parts fly, scattering through the air, or kicking people in the back with thick leather boots, or knocking over the groceries and foods they carried precariously on their heads. They stopped by a heavy metal door for a moment, looking at a fire extinguisher (It's not even automated, crazy- Man the tech archeologists would have a blast here- I'm pretty sure if we looked hard enough we could even find some combustion engines, for Bryule's sake") and then pushed it open, exiting into a gigantic, surprising spacey and vacant packing garbage, antiquated, the ground stained with fluids and filled with old vehicles on blocks, divided in parts by random chain link fences, filled with humming of generators, the corners fading away into shadows. Down the center a makeshift tunnel, the roof made of stepled together strips and beams of metal, wood, and plastic, began. Within sounds of clashing and banging issued into the echoing darkness.

They had reached this point through a five hour journey from converted building to converted building, a winding maze of warehouses, old schools filled with sounds of never-ending, constantly replaying AI teachers chanting letters of the alphabets or helpful rhythms in honey sweat voices to empty desks, covered in grime, banks turned into bases, the vaults protecting leaders of militias, droid storages now housing people, cramped in small boxes meant for folded up robots, lying or hanging in sleeping bags where once loose limped deactivated workers were hooked. It had begun on the underside of platform five twenty; unlike Coruscant, Taris did not have the iconic sky view of flying traffic crossing above and under each other; the chaotic close quartered planet would never be coordinated enough for such a thing; planes and crafts and cars would ram and crash into each other, or be edged out, and spiral off into buildings; there were no ports, or open hangers or landing zones on empty roofs or protruding off the sides of buildings; all travel was made in short leaps and jumps from enclave to enclave, so instead of renting a craft and gradually hovering to the height they wanted to enter, they had broken into an apartment, and exited out of the window, walked along the terrace over the streets in terror, and then moving along a tethered rope briefly, shimmying hand over hand, hanging loosely backwards, before entering another point further down. This had continued on for some time; leaving whenever the way was blocked or guarded, and then using bungee cords, handles, ladders, footholds, and climbing equipment helpfully attached on the exterior to circumvent obstacles and gradually make their way down.

It was a common way of movement, and only one of many. Although it wasn't the right environment for large amounts of vehicular travel, people still found ways to get where the wanted quickly; in a more individualized personal matter most of the time, jetpacks or jump boots, massive speeding trains (good because people could live in and on them, although there was also the risk that someone would build an overhang, and all their houses, which had grown like mold on top, would be smashed and brushed off, like a rag moving over a flat surface wiping away a clump of dirt) hoppers and springs, grapples, (highly advanced, steam, air, pressure, even nuclear powered, some families most valued possessions, heirlooms practically, the rusty old hook handed to the members of the family whenever they left the house to go somewhere, people yanked up suddenly and swinging back and forth constantly with the gun in their hands) and easy to maneuver swoop bikes, whose limitation of only being able to hover a few feet above the ground was not problem when the entire planet was a surface- they could travel along wires and poles like tight rope walkers, race through scaffolding and rooftops; it was even a common sight to see them blast straight up the side of a skyscrapers-thy were not at a loss for something to use. In buildings over 500 hundred stories tall, up the sides, rocket powered elevators shot up, exhaust and flames exploding out of vents in the buildings; when there was no room for a shaft big enough for the discharge, the lifts left the structure through the edges or by floating up through holes in the roof, and then hovered and blasted through the unobstructed air; the sky was dotted with mobile airborne elevators of all shape, sizes and materials, someone simply leaving the building if that was the most convenient route and going up through the air to a higher floor, some leaving the building to go to another one nearby, some continuing on and onto into the horizon- a further journey, brushing through cramped spaces in between the faces of towers, barely squeezing through, grinding against the sides, causing brick and stone and metal to crumble and break of.

They had continued using all these methods and now they were at their desired location, a coordinate lower down on the thin graceful stem, where it protruded through a gap in a group of buildings, buildings that naturally, organically, through the course of time, had grown even closer and closer through bridges, and small rectangular boxes which were domiciles, jutting out, nailed on, and hanging precariously off the facing houses, small rickety towers that sprung out of existing structures, and eventually had their tops melded to the spindle for support, like vines growing around a trellis, their curvature creating a sort of loop or arc, large nets and planks fusing everything into one until the whole area, through this progress, which resembling a wild garden growing and inching around a single post, completely covering and consuming it, each plant, just like the buildings struggling for light, melded combined into one single entity, a interconnected neighborhood. This was the district where the Hidden Beks and the Black Vulkars struggled for supremacy - this was where Revan was lose, wrecking havoc.

Pausing for a second they stood in front of the entrance; it was cavernous and yawning, arched and open; yet the inside was relatively illuminated; miner's lamps were strung along the center, and it seems the planks and pieces had been laid because the roof of the parking garage had crumbled, letting in a little light- which still shined dimly through the holes and gaps of the badly set planks, carelessly thrown across each other, and then set resolutely on their way, fully knowing the harm they were putting themselves into, but striving forward none the less; if what they thought the noises were was correct, they would be soon be in grave danger. The clashing and banging grew louder and louder; and the source came into their view after a brief few seconds; gangsters on swoop bikes flew and charged at each other, like knights of horseback lancing, some of them holding intricately carved staffs or long thin slivers of steel, other simply wielding crude poles and sticks. They would charge at each other, rushing directly into a near collision, and attempt to knock each other off their bikes; the person who fell, if any, was then surrounded by three or four bikes hovering over in a tight circle, blocking out all view (except for occasionally a bloody twitching claw of a hand, scraping and pulling at the ground spasmodically, that would burst out accompanied by shrieks and screams) as the riders beat the fallen person brutally with clubs and blunt hatchets. Occasionally, the riders would pull out of sheaths on the sides of their bikes long adorned rifles with pommels and feathers; and attempt to take aim, other times two would meet and duel with swords and daggers, speeding wildly in every direction, sticking dangerously close side by side, grinding against each other, kicking punching and elbowing each other, slamming and trying to throw the other person off or crush them into a wall, fighting in close combat, going up and down, defying gravity, upside down, spinning around and around, hardly paying attention to their course, more focused on the battle, zooming off in random directions, sometimes moments away from slamming into a wall or ceiling. They only went on for a little bit longer, one faction (the Black Vulkars) quickly annihilating most of their opponents, before they all realized they had an audience. They seem more angered at this than anything else; all and all, both gangs, although hating each other, felt themselves superior to the average person; and this crime of some random nobody stumbling in was far worse than territorial infringement; it insulted their sense of power and greatness**.** This is why when the ten Vulkars (humans andNiktos, wearing leathers with spikes attached; the humans punks with dyed pink and blue hair, pointed up into Mohawks, sticking up high, with the strange addition of bangs continuing on from the Mohawk strip hanging loosely over their heads, greasy and jelled) flew at Carth and Mab in triangle flock formation, the two surviving Hidden Beks stumbled away gratefully, without helping or defending them, as they system of ethics and charity normally called for, having no feeling of duty or kinship to someone stupid enough to come down here, perhaps even hoping their foes took good care of them, just so the power structure reminded intact, because most important of all, above everything else, beyond any morality, both gangs needed to be properly feared and respected.

Carth and Mab looked at each other, and then Carth quickly pulled both of his guns out of their holsters, in the same smooth motion sending his coat billowing behind him. The tips of his blasters glowed and shined like strobe lights- they flashed and sparkled and thrummed. A swoop bike flew at Mab; two others close behind; she quickly unsheathed a thin katana like sword, holding it perfectly squared and straight horizontally, the low flying incoming vehicle directly in front of it. It was slickly sliced through the side, the bottom falling off a few seconds afterward, and then it slammed into the ground, sending the rider stumbling and rolling. She moved the blade all around her, whirling it through the air, parrying hits from the two Vulkars now hovering above. Using graceful wrist and arm motions, turning it around in her hand, switching her direction and stance, bringing it behind her and over her shoulder, she superbly held her own; blocking a hit, then slicing the man's hand off, while bringing her fist back and hitting him in the face while she herself was facing the opposite direction; then stabbing the other in the side while high kicking him in the nose, stretching her foot gracefully, so limber so barely even had to jump. Hearing a sound behind her, she turned blocking the hit of the previous rider, who was wielding two large machetes. They bounced and ricocheted off her katana, but the man was extremely strong, and he smashed both machetes against the the same spot, knocking it to the ground and almost out of her hand. She let go off it willingly, then rapidly punched him five times in the chest and stomach, dodging his swings, then twisting one wrist, kicking the blade out of the other, and grabbing both ears and head butting him briskly. Then she reached over her shoulder, and pulled out the massive vicious looking vibroblade, holding it out with two hands, fingers on the trigger.

Unlike more advanced vibroblates, with used an ultra sonic frequency to cause it to vibrate, making them extremely powerful cutters, this one was more primitive; purchased for cheap; the whole thing shook and rattled, and the jagged outside of the sword itself moved in a loop; it roared like a chainsaw. She stuck it under her opponents arm, and moved up with it slowly, against much resistance; it ate through his flesh, droplets of blood splattering on her shocked pale face, her entire body shaking and jittering, teeth rattling. He fell to the ground screaming, blood gushing and squirting out of his limb. She turned around yet again, and ran, both hands on the hilt, the giant blade held sticking out behind her, at her two fallen foes, both just starting to get up from the wreckage of their crashed bikes. Positioning the heavy weapon in front of her feet, and then starting from there, she swung it along in a parabola,a upwards curve(it sliced through the ground on its course through the arc, leaving a thick gap) up to eye level, cutting through one of the Nikto's faces who was directly in front of her, ripping his head in two, tearing his front off messily. A few milliseconds before, a volley of bolts had headed towards both of them, hitting him both in the chest andhead just beneath he was attacked; the other one to the side cradling his arm fell down as well; dead.

Mab paused for a second, looking at the three bikers heading down the middle of the alley, blocking and dodging shots from Carth, and then ran to the side of the tunnel, which was a vast textured wall, full of twisted pipes. She shoved the sword in the wall, and sawed upwards and around, specifically cutting out a long pipe. Grabbing it she ran sideways, foot over foot, shuffling quickly**, **and then shovedin into the middle riders' chest, vaulting him off his bike and high up into the air, his bike spinning out of control end over end, barely missing her. Throwing the pipe into the air, she let it fall down onto to her blade, cutting it in half, and then quickly grabbed the first part, jabbing it into the left riders chin, snapping his head back, breaking his neck. Using intense agility, she managed to grab the second piece before it hit the ground as well, rushing off to the side and then continuing on sprinting, low to to the ground, while using her vibroblade to carve the end of it jagged and sharp. Without even pausing she leaned even further, even lower, and then threw it like a javelin, while almost falling, extremely shifted to one side, impaling the last rider through the chest. Running forward (up the chest and over-kicking the face and off the back of a gunslinger in a duel with Carth) she ran up to this man and prepared to kill him; however another Vulkar stopped the hit and began fighting her. She ground and chewed through his blade, leaving nothing but the hilt; but he pulled out a mace and skillfully deflected all her hits with two kinetic shields mounted on his wrist, wide and rectangular. They fought and moved in close circles around the gangsters dying comrade, who had fallen to his knees gasping. The shaking vibroblade moved against the barrier noisily, making ripples and creases, and crumpling it up (it smoothed up slowly, the wrinkles expanding until it was flat again) but did not seem able to pierce it anytime soon- so she swung it around, slicing off the sharp end of the pole impaled in the man, grabbing it and slitting the man's throat; lighting quick, like a snake striking, dodging all his defenses. She then turned around, heaved the blade high up into the air, and buried it into the impaled man's skull, splitting it open, as she let out a horrified, appalled cry.

It was stuck deep in the man's head, it's sounds dampened; she didn't even try to pull out, instead she grabbed her gun and took quick note of the scene; the battle was almost over. Carth weaved and ducked beneath wreckage and rocks, firing off shots whenever he could against a men on a bike, (one who she thought was dead but had apparently used stimulants and gotten back up) who dodged them by spinning around, suddenly dropping, shooting up into the air, or snapping completely upright, shooting back from odd positions, like hanging onto the underbelly or off the side. Flying towards her was the final assault, two men on bikes shooting her way, and a thickly armored man behind them with a rifle, wearing a camo helmet with blades and needles sticking out of it. She begin firing at them, at the same time dodging bolts elegantly, doing cartwheels, handstands, flips, often only having only hand to shoot, firing off from the side as she threw herself, pushing of the ground with one hand and firing with the other, in the middle of a cartwheel, or midair, or upside down, or in turns and they reached her, one of left, one to her right, she completed her final leap, high up into the air, and then split her legs, kicking each, knocking them off their bikes. While still falling, she nudged the right bike, turning it slightly, hooked her foot around the handles, and looped it around, keeping its momentum going, shoving it in the direction of the armored man with the muscles of her thighs. Catching her balance on the left one and slowing it down, she held herself up on it, like a gymnast on a beam, only by her hands, and stretching out her legs that it didn't bump into them, spun it around so it was facing the opposite direction as well. Moving it back and forth between her legs, she then pushed it forward, letting it go, barreling also at their foe.

The first one speed his way; the man grabbed a disk off his side and spun it forward, it landed, attached itself to the ground and projected a large rectangular yellow shield, like a wall. The bike slammed into it, crumbling and exploding, flattening, waves of heat and fire billowing forward at theoutlaw, pushing him backwards. The second projective also met its mark; the man crossed his arms and the bike slammed into them; through the cloud of smoke and flame, she saw him quickly move his crossed arms up and over his head during the hit, the flying smashed wreckage moving with, deflecting over him.

"Shit"

She looked to Carth; although he was still struggling, (he had his enemies swoop bike, holding on to it by the front part of the chassis, and was hitting at him and sweeping it his way slowly like a giant club) his mouth was open in a wide o of shock and dismay; using one hand he aimed his gun and fired a few shots; the armored man deflected these as well, with a sweep of his wrist (twisting it to activate a different type of shield)

Mab stared at the man, and began strategizing in the brief seconds that she had; she could not engage in a firefight with him, he had a shield and she did not; it was as simple as that, his advantage was enormous; a sword fight was obvious going to be as unbalanced and difficult- there was obviously a kinetic shield on his opposite arm as well, and causing some kind of explosion and shockwave was out of the question, as incorporated into his amour was most likely an environmental one. The whole thing turned into a delicate balancing game, all duels did, almost like rock paper scissors; there were three types of shields and three different types of weapons they blocked; kinetics blocked slugs and bullets and sword blows, light breakers, which fragmented and scattered intense laser beams, and environmental barriers that stopped things like guns that fired beams of superheated gas, or boiling liquids, or arcs of electricity. All three could be worn on the wrist; (although environmental blockers were most useful the larger the area that shield covered; if they were standard size, the heat could just dissipate and move around the hit area) this version was the cheapest and most common kind, anyone of the street could grab a pair, and most were poorly made and ineffective, although like anything it depended on the cost. Normally the better versions were incorporated into the armor or had large powerpacks, or projected outwards in a bubble or curved rectangular from a generator hooked to a belt; a simple bracelet often times didn't have enough room for anything to powerful and useful- as demonstrated by the fact that he needed to throw a disk to stop the vehicle in its tracks, while all his bracelet could do was move it over him slightly. However, only the rich or professional fighters had these technologies, (anything other than reinforced plates or bracelets) which were still regarded as rare- not as rare as shields that bubbled and wavered directly over the body like an extra skin, though.

She realized what she had to do; no matter how bad her chances were in close combat, she had to close the breadth as quickly as possible; at least she could block his hits when she was near him. She sprinted forward directly at him, firing to distract him. A sort of calm focus came over her as bolts whiskered past dangerously near; she was going to die if she did not take it all in soon, did not look at everything around her and find some way to stretch out her survival, did not glance at everything else, grasp the gestalt intuitively, connect the random bits together into some kind of beneficial pattern. Leaning down as she ran, she grabbed an old broken piece of staff from the fight before and threw it forward, so low it skidded barely inches on the ground. It went directly through the hole of a shield bracelet that had rolled off a murdered man's wrist as he collapsed to ground and now lay there, catching it and bringing the ring along with flight; she narrowed her eyes, her breathing slowed, and colors became more intense; she aimed her pistol and shot a bolt; the beam glanced of the generator, melting parts of it, and flickering it on; it continued through the air, now activated, a red wall moving forward. The armored man screamed angrily, his shots deflecting and bouncing away harmlessly as she ran a few yards behind it. It hit his shoulder and fell to the ground, fizzling out- by the time it had reached him she had already crossed most of the distance.

Mab jumped through the air in a running kick, hitting the man, who blocked it. They chopped, punched and kicked at each other; both skilled practioners. She was careful to avoid hitting his kinetic shield, such a deflected blow could shatter every bone in his fist- unlike a sword, which would just cause it to bounce away, although repeated hits could warp and twist the blade. Still she did not pull out her katana- the man's shield and the fact that they were so close meant she would never be able to hit him- he had weightless effortless barriers mounted on his arms, a simple sword when she did not have the same was not a wise weapon choice, especially when he was also wearing armor. The tactics were these: when the person had a kinetic shield out, you try to shoot them from a distance (one could also make the choice to engage them head on, and attempt one of three things- a speedy enough attack to get around their defense {tough when she was already so close and didn't enough have room}- or the use of a series of techniques that either, through rapid quick hits overloaded the generator, causing it to heat up and explode on their wrist- or outright shatter the energy field through heavy blows, from objects that were more machinery then weapons, giant sledgehammers loaded with springs, gravitational maces, power armor gauntlets) - and when they had a blaster deflector (he had one on each wrist, something only the truly dexterous and skilled could do, to focus on both, and use them separately at the same time; this man was relatively ill equipped compared to the galaxy at large, but was obviously a poor, downtrodden individual with talent, making the most of his limited resources) you had use projectiles; something most inhabitants of the galaxy regarded as archaic, not taking advantage of their potential or engage them in close combat - which was exactly how Carth and Mab had been working, Carth taking out all those he could- or distracting those with wrist mounted blaster shields by constantly firing their way, so they could not battle as well as they wished- while Mab cleaned up and defended Carth by being as dramatic and attention grabbing as much attention as possible. In this day and age of medkits and stimpacks, a simple blaster bolt to the stomach and torso would not keep a man down for long, so the gunslinger/swordfighter team always worked like this- the gunslinger attacking as a nuisance and annoyance, able to act in this manner because they had nearly unlimited ammo and no reload times, the sword fighter taking them out for good, with rough blows to the head and heart, finishing the wounded and unfocused off, disabling them so they could not recover, which with the technology around, could happen even from the edge of death if it wasn't was why it had to be so brutal and vicious, with decapitations and mutilations; otherwise they would inject wondrous chemicals, patch themselves up and brush themselves off, and step right back up into the fray; half the fighters in the latter half of the battle had been those seemingly defeated; in some worlds it was even possible at a moment's notice to reattach severed arms and hands, to restart hearts, to seal up cuts and slashes at once; strange idiosyncratic medicines were found in some alien civilizations that bubbled and sizzled, goo that moved and dripped but stretchilly pulled itself back up, steaming potions, cauldrons the size of men that the near dead could enter into and return living, plants and caves and the stomachs of animals and dark graves in the ground the spit out the destroyed whole but strange; on the other hand technologies, in contrast to these unexplained magics and primitive phenomena not even researched by science, vats filled with floating body parts, metallic tendrils that bounds limbs together from the inside out, android hearts, nanites, electric patches that would shock a consciousness back into existence if they had to dammit, suits that could hold a broken man together for years, his cracked skin stewing in a brine of his own blood and added nutrients pumped from the outside.

Since she was in close quarters with a man with a kinetic shield who knew how to use it, and the only short weapon she had was a baldy balanced old dagger, which even if she stabbed him, would glance off his armor or only provide a flesh wound, she adopted a style where she attempted to shot him in the head and chest, a move to kill him outright or disable him, often times hitting him and blocking with her pistol, by swinging and clubbing, while punching with her other hand. This combat style was one both common on the streets, where a gun would be used as a bludgeon until a shot could be got in, the right moment arising, and in the military, where most commandoes could switch between full body kinetic or blaster shields at will; necessitating the creation of style that used the standard rifle (oftentimes tipped with a retractable bayonet, laser or plasma) as a melee weapon: if the enemy was wearing a kinetic shield they hit and maneuvered until they could shoot or a sniper took them out; if the enemies switched to a blaster deflector they hit and bludgeoned and stabbed, not needed to change weapons at all. This was the proscribed style of The Republic Military in close quarters, and Mab was an expert at it- her weapon of choice was a Republican Assault Rifle that she could spin and club with, bringing its butt and heads into people's stomachs and noses.

She fired a shot inches away from his head, he grabbed her wrist pulling it away, and attempted to stab her with a short sword, which was his armament at the moment. This continued on, both of them hitting at each other, blocking with their arms and wrists and open palms, slapping away near hits, Mab always firing the gun so close, but not quite making it, the man occasionally using his kinetic shield to shove her elbow and arm out of the way- although it was not as effective as she was inside his radius, his personnel space, and he had to awkwardly maneuver to bring his arms in and block it. She needed to end this quickly, and a shot in the chest could not do it; it needed to be in the face. She fired again, but he had already grabbed her arm and spun her around, the shot went nowhere as intended. She glanced over briefly to Carth; he seemed to have won; he had the swoop bike over his head, grinding down the front of it onto the fallen mans chest, pinning him; she heard screams and the smell of burning flesh. After moving her body away from a dagger strike a few well placed shots beamed towards the man. He had to multi-task, blocking her shots, and sweeping his arm to deflect the bolts. Now the man was frantic, knowing he could not keep it up. She considered pulling out her katana and backing up, now that he was distracted, but was in the rhythm, and didn't want to lose it or interfere.

"Surrender" she whispered through gritted.

Spittle of anger and fear flew out of his teeth, and sweat dripped down his face- he looked at her with pure rage. She swung the gun back and forth across his face- on each side he chopped it away with his sword, her catching and clashing the sword with the muzzle of her gun. She hit away his hand, holding it down, and brought the gun directly in front of him, shooting him in the face while she had the chance. He fell backwards, smoking.

She walked away from his fallen copse, towards Carth he also moved towards her. They met in the middle, the middle of the field, which looked like the site of some disaster, some kind of crash or massive collision, bodies and metal scattered everywhere.

"Impressive"

"You too finger jockey"

Carth moved around slowly, surveying the slaughter in despair, running his hands through his greasy hair, pulling the strands out, so that they fell lankly over his face. Mab massaged her temples and rubbed her face roughly, then put her hands on her hips and looked along with him.

"Are there any alive?" she said business like, her attentions re-gathered and focus, after the slight break back to the mission on hand.

"I don't remember seeing that group of people over there- there could be survivors from the previous battle.

"Let's check then- keep your guns out"

They walked over carefully, stepping over bodies, burning swords, and still moving axes heads (the clattered and banged senselessly, inching forward slightly, pulling their shafts along with them; like jackhammers left laying on the ground), and kneeled down by a cluster of three combatants. The first two were obvious dead (missing her head; the other a huge smoking hole in his chest) but the third lay, breathing shallowly, moaning slightly in his daze. Carth grabbed him by his by his lapels and lifted him, shaking him gently.

"I don't recall fighting this guy"

"Yeah me either- Wake up. Don't worry. We're not going to hurt you if you cooperate. Wake up"

The young man blinked and shook his head sleepily, resisting. Carth paused then slapped him lightly on the cheeks a couple times. "We might have to use a stimpack"

"No we can't waste one of those- just keep trying, search his body, pat him down, does he have any wounds?"

Carth continued talking to the man while running his hand inside his suit; he paused while his hand was moving past his side; he had found a bloody wound. He pulled a small tube with nuzzle on it off the man's belt, it was part of a medkit; scavenged or stolen or divided up amongst the group- and began spraying it against gash, creating a thin layer of white plastic over it. He pushed against it softly, applying pressure, making it stick- the man's lip curled and his eyes moved rapidly under his lids. Noticing this, Carth pressed harder; the man tossed and turned his head, grimacing, beads running down his faces. "You need to talk to us ok you need to focus. Focus."

The man was now mumbling weakly, "no no no," eyelids fluttering.

"Mab hold his head up"

She grabbed, propping it on a folded leg, feeling his sick head, and damp wet hair; the man's skin was hot and tight. Carth pulled on his other blaster and put in on the man's chest. "Open your eyes- we need to talk."

"whaaaat- I don't under"

"Ok look at me. There you go. Now just breathe for a second"

The man stared, terrified, befuddled, eyes confused and foggy, pupils dilated.

"Where's the Black Vulkar's base- we need to talk to your leaders"

"I'm not a Vulkar, I'm a Bek"

"Great that's even be-"

One of the supposedly dead enemies moved, leaning up suddenly- Carth shot him in the head effortlessly, spinning the gun in his hand so it pointed behind him, and the Nikto fell back down. "What's going on" the men said struggling and trying to look around.

"Nothing. Just ignore it. So you're a Bek. That's good... I think we'll be able to deal with them better. I heard they were more agreeable. More reasonable. So where's one of their bases where we can have a little talk-"

"I- everyone knows. The Beks make no secret. We help the community as long as they help us back. Anyone can come by..."

"Where then? Come on make it quick. We don't have a lot of time"

"The old construction yard."

"Ahh, at the very edge of the district. I remember seeing that on the maps don't you?"

"Yeah, Carth- shouldn't be that hard of a walk" They got up, pausing and thinking.

"Where...where are you-"

Mab kneeled back down, "shhhhh shhh, just go back to sleep," running a hand over his feverish brow.

"Should we jump on one of these swoop bikes?

"I'm sure every single hallway and corridor down here is booby trapped for swoop bikes: sensors, bolas that fly out of the walls, spikes that shoot out of the ground, rigged guns, hanging grenades, traps, tripwires, and lines that are at the right height to slice people's heads off- this area is too contested. They don't want people flying around. It's safer to walk.

"Ok, well let's get out of here soon then - Each bike most likely had cameras to relay what happened to the certain networks. Let's go before anyone else shows up"

* * *

The construction yard (dark, crowded, and claustrophobic) was abandoned long ago, and like most places of activity and work in this futuristic, technologically advanced society, was composed mainly of a single, gigantic droid, the manger of all assigned tasks, and the tool, many in one, to complete them; a focal point of the process. It was a titan of steel; rusty, grim, and pragmatic, its long metal face covered in glowing sensors, two humongous arms ended with pinchers, wrecking balls hanging off of its hands like beads, its entire body covered in cranes, pulleys, hammers. It moved slowly at the bottom, its hips, where it attached to the ground. Surrounding it were hundreds of identical gray crates and boxes, stacked and arranged around, some piled on top of each other into towers, other into low blocks, the rest simply scattered, all used by the Hidden Beks for housing and storage. Others were strapped or built onto the machine itself- resting on its bulky shoulders or its head; the higher ones with glass faces- obviously the offices of the higher ups; spaces meant for foremen's long ago. The droid was constantly in creaking laborious motion; but although it moved slowly, all and all, the entire place was full of activity and life, business and planning. Boxes were constantly pulled out of groups and walls, leaving gaps, (but the structure stayed the same, sustained, and not falling apart; they were never removed from important supporting spots or areas where a missing piece would cause it to crash; it was a careful game) and moved somewhere else, lifted through the air, the people inside taking no note; everything perpetuallybeing arranged to facilitate better travel, organization, and defensive structure. It was like a film of a city being built throughout the years, speed up in the course of a few moments; towers rising and falling quickly, being built and then reconstructed in seconds, areas developed and then torn down, spires pilled high, and then ignored, going down piece by piece, slowly dying, sections on the ground forming courtyards in between their perimeters, and then positioned into different shapes, triangles, parallelograms, lines growing and expanding, then shrinking again; it was like the tide of the ocean; it was like children building sandcastles on the beach.

Carth and Mab stopped at the nearest carton, their pathway leading to it, any further blocked by a row of boxes connected together with cement, the spaces filled with sandbags and chunks of metal rafters, and banged on the side, causing it the shake and rattle. A door, cut into the side, opened up, and a hunchbacked mollusk like creature (its shell curving around its head and forming a helmet of sorts) wielding a large pike stuck its head out.

"We wish to speak to the leader of the Hidden Beks."

"For what reason? If you have complaints or information-" came a voice, syrupy and thick, gurgling, somewhere from the back of its thick hump.

"No... we" Mab turned to Carth; he nodded, "we want to help fight the Black Vulkars."

The Hidden Bek member gave them a slow languid look over, scanning their bodies, and then twitched at them, part of its face contracting, some indiscernible impossible to comprehend facial expression. However they soon understood well enough what he meant; it left the door open for them, and began fumbling near the top, pulling something out of the ceiling. They entered in, shutting the door, which had been shaped by a blowtorch, and still bore lines and clumps of melted metal on its edges, and waited expectantly, staring at the ribbed insides. The creature had in its hands a large rectangular box, connected to a hanging cord with two buttons, both bright red, on it. The xenomorph hit one with a balled up fist, and then they waited for a moment, until the the entire crate shook, groaned, and lifted up the ground, moving up and through through the air, in the hold of a gigantic claw. They were roughly set down one end before the other, causing them to be jostled around, and then the door opened- the mollusk leaving- they saw it briefly stare at a few cracked screens, flick a few switches underneath on control panels and then step onto a piece of wood tied to two flimsy ropes, getting slowly lowered down, holding on to one of them, pendulously swinging slightly back and forth- until a large insect, long frightening legs like a heron stepping gingerly through the water, walked in, glancing at them, holding a large white box, setting it down at their feet.

They looked at it and then shrugged; and began pulling off and out their weapons, one at a time; Carth pulled out both of his pistols holding them straight out, curved in his hands sideways, staring at them along the barrel appraisingly before setting them down- while Mab took much longer, throwing her katana and vibroblade in, often times having to undo straps and buckles, unsinching and unlooping them, lifting them out, pulling them, squeezing herself through- pulling his shoulder holster over her head, her hair getting caught, yanking out her dagger harness, one foot off the ground, hopping to the right clumsily, sighing and taking a while, often times having to lift and compress layers of clothing, or pull them though and takes them off completely- the tall bug waited patiently, tapping it's curved horned foot. Finally Mab was done, looking slightly flustered and embarrassed, her outfit a mess, jacket open, everything rumpled and twisted, shirt unbuttoned, revealing a generous amount of cleavage. She sighed then lifted her arms up side to side- the insect shoved its long finger underneath, patting her down; then moved onto Carth, taking a longer time, as he was wearing heavier fabrics more put together. The insect felt his back, then moved down to his hips, one of its legs (Carth couldn't help but grimace in revulsion) limberly caressing and groping at his stomach, tapping and stroking his sides, and then kneeled down, and ran its hands down each leg, up and down.

Mab started laughing and looked knowingly at Carth, "Op, we found it, ah, here it is; the madam of all the prostitutes has finally gotten around to checking you out, seeing if you meet the cut, seeing if the merchandise is good enough. Prodding you like an animal to see if the stud can satisfy."

Carth chuckled involuntary; causing the alien to stop and look up, "sorry ticklish" he said turning red, not even knowing if it understood or not- and turned to Mab, both of them struggling not to laugh.

A few moments later, its work was done, and it stood up, grabbed the box and then began to walk out- Carth and Mab moved as to follow- but it held up a yellow palm, stopping them. It then closed the door. The box began to be dragged along bumpily to the side- occasionally lifting off the ground- they were attached to a rope, a line that connected a winch (that was part of the droid) that moved to the right, sliding them across a line of rollers, high up in the sky. A long room, with a glass window, was in front of this line, and as they moved across, sensors scanned the box with a blue light, hitting them and projecting their shadows on the wall. The insect tapped on a computer console, looking at their X-rays, and other views on different spectrums- finally they reached the end of the belt, halting to a stop. As they went on, they both waited, waited for Mab to break the silence, the dam of their laughter,

"So yeah I definitely think she was checking you out, rating you, what grade piece of meat you are. hehe. For sure she wandered a little longer than necessary around that bulge of yours, trying to see if it was larger then av-"

"Oh be quiet"

Finally it stopped for the last time; and the creature opened the door, and stood aside to let them out. They moved in the terminal, a couple inches forward, and stopped by the next part of the process; a large metal container, looking like a propane tank pushed up against the wall (covered in calendars and a bulletin board) with a sprayer attached on to the top to a nozzle; a man leaned over and began lifting it up and twisting valves- it was filled with leaping and dancing gray liquids; nanocleansers. The grasshopper like sentient extended its long slender fingers, and began signing with them, waving and curling them through the air gracefully, occasionally combining that with sharp cracking sounds, as it snapped and rubbed them against each other. The man paused and then straightened up,

"Well she says she trusts you and we don't need to do this. That's good anyways; we only have a limited supply. Well... carry on... through that door and then walk along the rafters, mate."

They nodded and and pushed open the door, revealing nothing but empty space, a drop, and a simple metal beam hanging there, ending into nothing. Figuring out how the entire place worked by now, they moved onto it, and then held onto the chains. It hoisted them up, the sound of cranking metal loud and prevalent, and then it matched up with another beam, higher up. They walked along this one too, balancing, arms out, desperately hoping to reach more stable, larger ground. Quarter way along to their destination, (the bottom half of some kind of metal orb, a curved basin, like a tub; most likely they would be lifted up in this, hopefully being their final exchange and switch) they turned and stared across a few feet, to the face of the droid- they were extraordinarily close, one of the nearest spots anywhere in the super structure- long faced, plain gray steel creating a triangular front, like a faceplate that pointed of into a sharp end, covering wires and weaker parts and places where unnecessary redundant equipment had to removed to provide rooms- its gigantic circle eyes, giving off a pale diffused yellow light, the particles of dust glowing and swirling, insects attracted and hovering around, the gigantic arms moving on pre-plotted courses, carefully avoiding knocking or bumping into everything built around it, perfect and slow and gentle- one of its claws (adorned with a empty cement dumper moving endlessly around and around, and two laser cutters on each side of what was equivalent to a wrist, large boxes with twin spikes projecting out of their front end) now holding on to their goal- prompting them to realize they were dawdling. They jumped in, Mab vaulting over the side. They were then lifted up, up and high over- they paused for a second, in a bird's eye view, like sailors in a crow's nest, observing everything and then the robot jerkily twitched to the right bringing them over a large box protruding out of its chest. A set of blast doors opened up on the roof, and they were lowered in- directly in the middle of a room- a completely unprotected, vulnerable position, as no doubt was planned. They were set on the ground, and then the arm ascended, stopping briefly- a small hammer swung off, tinking a bar in a hoop on the cup out of its slot delicately- the entire bowl collapsed flat, its sides against the ground, offering then no cover from the multiple people either moving back and forth busily but keeping an eye on them, or the individuals lounging inconspicuously against the walls, staring without making it obvious. The arm then disappeared through the ceiling.

In front of them, at a wooden desk, touching a holographic screen, closing it down, and moving it to the side, finishing it up, and then folding his hands and staring at them, thoughtfully planning out what to say, was a tall skinny black man, bald, wearing a red turtleneck and a vest over it, (covered in zippers with a thin plastic strips through a clamp on each shoulder) right brow pieced, with intense blue eyes, their brightness penetrating- so sharp and clear that they seemed almost biologically impossible. It was realized later, throughout the course of the conversation, that they were ocular implants- they never moved and roamed casually, smoothly turning, but either focused straight ahead, unblinking and intent**, **or haltingly jerked in a singular motion to whatever he wanted to look at, robotically moving and then fixing in one spot **.**

Here sat Gadon Thek, hero of the common people, as revered by his followers, a man of integrity and honesty, trying to protect and look out of the interests of the small and weak, from preying on by brutish thugs, corporations, and various other unseemly interests, practicing a simple form of practical socialism and wealth distribution, without intellectual considerations of how ethical or true the philosophy actually was, encouraging respect for family and authority, especially his, amongst the youngsters, attempting to bind and control benevolently as much as he could, to best regulate and manage by bringing as many into his gangs territory as possible. He was a community organizer, at leader at the street level, who was not afraid to accomplish his goals by any means necessary; he was disillusioned with the official laws of Taris, and thus only followed his own; further more attempting to make them apply to all, to become the status quo, through sheer force of will and charisma, to combat the tyranny of survival of the fittest by instituting checks and balances, safety and structure to all who joined his gang or acknowledged his authority; out of the chaos of those overlooked by the government he attempted to bring order.

"And why are you here?" he said in a deep resonant voice.

"Are there any rumors of captured Jedi, or Republic Officers on the run?"

He looked surprised for a second; obviously to him, it wasn't just a random question, but one full of meaning.

"Indeed a member of The Order is said to held at the Black Vulkar's main base- in fact there is a swoop race coming up where he is offered as a prize"

"We need to rescue him- by all means, before this race"

"It would be easier-"

"We are willing to attack this headquarters of theirs - aren't you at war with them? We could do at lot of damage. Take this opportunity."

"You see, here's the thing- we definitely think for the benefit of the entire community these Black Vulkars need to be eliminated- but at the moment, there is a lull, it is not full out chaos- it's strange it appears that way from the outside, doesn't it- but all these events, these crashes, these malfunctions, the flooding in sector five, the explosions, the viruses and network failures- these aren't acts of war. We aren't actually fighting each other; it's provoking violence, true, but we don't know what going on either. It's all a mess. It's madness out there- yesterday for a few minutes, somehow our construction droid was even hacked and it came alive and began smashing things- a few of our members thought obviously it was an attack by the Black Vulkars and so they went and blew up a bridge, and then part of an entire building lost its power. And that's the quintessential example, something strange happens, someone else retaliates thinking it's the other side, when really it wasn't, and then it escalates. All these things, all these terrible events in the span of a few days-"

Carth and Mab looked at each other, once again silently communicating, and decided to tell him.

'It's the captured Jedi. Revan. He's doing these things"

"Revan" the man was astonished, "they have Revan. The arrogance! Don't they know what kind of danger they are putting this entire planet in! And I thought I raised him better-" he cut himself off, suddenly looking pained. "Well this certainly explains a lot" he said and sat back down, stroking his moustache and goatee, brow furrowed.

'Yes- Revan can't just make a break for it and run completely, once they find him gone, they will send a hunt that he won't be able to escape unless he uses the full extent of his power. But if he leaves his cell, or wherever he's held, for only thirty minutes, or a hour, he can keep prodding things along, until they reach their breaking point, and then in the middle of all the anarchy he can disappear safely"

"So he's pitting us against each- doing all this"

"Yes. That's another reason for helping us- once he's rescued this will no longer be necessary. All the harm can be stopped."

"We were thinking of sending a battalion to take advantage of this situation, to attack their main base- somehow a poisonous gas had been released and they were having trouble cleaning it up, and near their sewer entrance, their rancor spawn in the lab had somehow hatched earlier- but if we used you- there would be no waste of resources. We could conserve."

"So we have your permission? We'll need directions and-"

"I can give you better then that- two days ago all the hologram screens in a fifty yard radius were overridden with the maps and schematics of their main base- in reaction the Vulkars killed all the crops and destroyed all the food assemblers in the Gothorian region"

He held up a red square, engraved with black and gray circles, pikes coming out of its end

"Here is the data file"

"Thank you- we'll take these Vulkars down a notch"

"Yes, I expect it of you. You capacity for harm is quite great, I believe. In fact I know so."

He smiled faintly and privately to himself. "What you do to rescue you him will be enough. I have one request of you however. If you seem the leader of the Black Vulkars- make an attempt to capture or kill him. His insane greed has gone on for enough- as demonstrated by this event. To keep Revan hostage- not even I thought he would cross that line." He rested his face in his hands wearily; a pale skinned Twi'lek (purple and blue Lekkus_) _who had been staring at them suspiciously the whole time, with narrowed eyes, dislike open on her face, glared at them as if it was their fault and put her arms around his shoulders. Gadon looked at Mab's questioning face.

"Brejik was my son. After my swoop accident, he expected to inherit my position. After a while he grew impatience, and decided to leave the gang, betray us, and help a small ethnic group of Nikto achieve solidarity and power. He turned them into an imposing faction, with no morals, nothing but the desire for money and power. " He had a look of incredible disappoint and shame on his face.

"He has learned nothing from me. I have let this go on long enough. I am... so disappointed in him." he said poignantly and then looked at them straight on.

Carth said, "To lose someone without them ever dying, to lose them because they became someone else, because you never knew them at all, that can be the most painful thing. I am sorry for you. I know how important loyalty is, loyalty and family, especially down here. To turn your back on-" he shook his head; it seemed incomprehensible to a man of his values.

"Thank you for your sympathy" he said nobly, "but it is time to recover. To move on. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. And if you do not succeed, there is a plan B- since we are in this together, I think I can offer it to you. We have a prototype swoop engine...

* * *

"Hurry" he said through clenched teeth, his back against the grate, arms behind him, muscles bulging, body trembling; he fell to one knee, sinking deeper into the sewage; his hair was wet and his cloths soaked- the confined hallway slowly filled up with dirty water which shoot out of the sides of the metal plate. "I don't know how much longer I can hold this!"

"I got the hatch open on- come on..."

"Just go!"

"No, are you crazy, I'm not leaving you behind!"

She slid down the ladder quickly, landing stylishly on the ground in a crouching position and then sprinted at him- "Carth, on the count of three" he sputtered, a vein bulging in his forward, "Count of three let go and then we're going to run. Step to the side ok. Jump away as quickly as you can."

'One"

"Two"

Three!"

He groaned and let go, immediately getting sweep off his feat by a rushing deluge; Mab screamed "no!" and dived into the rushing drekafter him, putting an arm around his neck and bringing his head up to the surface, inches away from the ladder, which she held onto barely with one hand. She swam against the current, kicking and began pulling herself up, heaving him with one curled, tightly holding on, arm. The level of the sewage kept on rising steadily; it was up to their heads when they pulled themselves out; a few seconds later it was bumping disgustingly, like fetid swamp wetness, out of the access hole.

'It's funny how the man we're trying to save is inadvertently almost killing us"

- As they continued on, more signs of sabotage and subversion became clear- two glass buildings slammed into each other at an angle, forming a triangle- an angry mob, savage faces illuminated, the harsh light given off by their glowing weapons and torches- several small marching armies (with makeshift helmets of scrap metal, pots and pans and old droid parts for guards, and often times more than less tinfoil and other soft pliable metals as decorations; filling in the gaps, used as props to make them look more equipped them they actually were, all armor flimsy and fake, but made to appear real, to intimidate, hopefully enough to protect them, to make someone hesitate- it looked absurd to them, but to those who lived here it was dead serious) ridiculous plumed- which they hide from around corners or in niches, peeking- a strange region with straight metal poles ending in large bulges painted with red strips that rotated slowly, where metal floated and spun, and objects hovered in mid air, and some stretched and melted, like in a dream, growing and lengthening and shining like liquids suspended - while technicians looked at the devices completely befuddled, not making any progress. Mab's necklaces all pointed straight out, like a needle on a compass fixing on and not leaving the direction of true north, and at one stage they both were even pinned up high up in the air, slowly lifted up and pushed against a wall, eagle spread, unable to move - all of this mixed in with the strange threat, the mysterious rampage, inexorably heading, as it would now seem, (too large of a coincidence to be otherwise) directly at them; they glanced out of a glass window at night, standing close together, in silent, respectful awe, and saw the lower city on fire; spreading away into the distance a thin line of glowing hellish light, a brand, a trail gleaming like scorching lava, every wall and building in its path obliterated- cop helicopters and crafts flung away and impaled on light poles and broken snapped in half supports, structures blown up and demolished and smashed and throw; a pathway, declared a few hours ago by the Government completely off limits, practically a war zone ,and yet still no hint as to what is was, how it all fit in, came together.

They were close enough now that every pause was not to simply rest or cook something to eat, but either to pull out military binoculars and spy ahead, focusing on certain points, zooming in and scanning- or re-plan their route of entrance, and circle around, and every conversation and slowing down of their walking to a leisurely calm stroll not to alleviate boredom or take a slight break- but only to delay the inevitable, a nervous putting off the great battle which they felt was coming.

"Why did you decide to come with, Mab? Really? Not that I'm not grateful-"

"Well, I was compelled to. A powerful urge- I couldn't resist. I feel drawn forward almost." Her face was scrunched up thoughtfully, (a common expression of hers when talking or pondering) brow furrowed, eyebrows close together. "It must be because it sounded just too good to pass up. I like an adventure, you know."

"But from what you're told me your life has already been pretty interesting- you can't be bored, I mean-" He stared straight ahead, but looked at her out of the corner of his eyes- it wasn't a normal talk, he was very tight and alert, focused, like someone listening for the slightest sound, on a watch, erect and rigid when they though they heard something. He wasn't casual at all; he didn't even look her in the face once. He suspected her; of what he did not know what, but she was suspicious, in some way he couldn't put his finger on; Mab did not notice this at all- she was to self absorbed.

'"Well" she hesitated, "I remember those things- but ever since my stay in the hospital- it's like, I feel I have to reinvent myself. I don't feel connected to anything of that stuff- so this is to like, I don't know, pull myself back together, give me some kind of purpose, some kind of meaning. It's to redefine who I am, to grow. I couldn't just stay stuck on that ship, going about my normal life. Sometimes I feel so confined. It's like someone else has planned it all out for me and I'm just going along. The doctors told me this depersonalization was normal- but sometimes don't even know who I am. I had to do something dramatic to break out this fog, this shell."

"A lot of young people have problems like that- when I first joined the Military I didn't know what the hell I was doing it. I just needed somewhere to go. But after a while you find your place, your reason"

'It's not just that. It's like this girl, she's someone else, and I have to start a new life, a new identify. I'm not just trying to find my place, to wander from job to job; I'm trying to make a different personality. Not decide what to do, decide who I am. A trial by fire I guess. It's terrible I know- but sometimes i think that accident ruined my life. Changed who I am and I'll never be normal again. I'm never be... comfortable in my own skin again. There's something... something missing-

She cut herself off and said jokingly "So long story short, I came to rescue Revan so he owes me one and will give me some free psychology sessions."

Like many times before, Carth didn't laugh- statements or topics about Revan he always took seriously- didn't feel quite comfortable conversing about him casually, in a light manner. "I don't think Revan is that type of Jedi."

"What is he like?" she questioned curiously.

Carth shrugged awkwardly, "Ah, I, I never really got a chance to know him. He would always sit in the back of meetings, with a large hood that blocked his face completely- he never really would talk except to ask a few questions or give an order- which he expected followed immediately. He doesn't really seem to like dealing with people- I mean he's eloquent and charismatic when he wants to be, but outside that-"

"How long was he on board?"

"I don't really know. It's weird. I can't really remember when he arrived, he kind of fades in and out of my memory but I think two months. Three maybe? He would walk around and inspect stuff, and people would just brush by, right past- maybe that was happening with me to."

"That is strange."

"Yeah, if he didn't want you to think of him, you wouldn't- he'd be dim almost, invisible, sitting there listening, at every meeting, but no one notices him, their eyes just slide right over, they don't even glance at his spot; in the shadows, (like he was unimportant, a piece of furniture or something) and then he would talk or interrogate and you would do it and then promptly forgot. Of course I'm sure if he wanted to he could bring all eyes on the room to him at once, he was kind of imposing."

"But like I said, I don't really know how long he was there. I only really talked to him, face to face a couple times, and that was briefly- he sat down with me and the captain, and we planned a few things out, a few backups and just in cases, he gave me some information, told me where we were going and why. Then- I mean I couldn't really get a good grip his personality- but he was very impersonal- imperious, commanding- but that's expected of course. So I guess, in the end I don't know what he's like."

"Hmmmm, he's probably just a jerk. Occam's razor, simplest solution."

"Well if he is, he has good reasons, after all. I can forgive it. This is war."

"Ah there it is" Carth said, and then crouched down, staring through his scopes. A little of the way ahead, a gigantic door, fortress sized, thick metal, the length of a football field, a moving, and closing wall, more than just a simple small person sized portal, slowly groaned open, and then slammed shut quickly; automatically, over and over again- it was obviously that it was malfunctioning. Every time it closed together, it boomed, the sound loud and all encompassing, and the entire area rattled, dust of the floor rushing and flowing forward in waves.

"The entrance to the Black Vulkar base- this place is massive- a citadel!"

"Yeah, there it is- how are we going to do this?" said Mab nonchalantly, pulling out the numerous blades scattered and hidden about her body, and looking at them appraisingly (Mab now wore a leather jacket with large shoulders pads sticking out, hanging down to her waist, and about her person were multiple blades, spring-loaded, stuck in the toes of her knee high boots, wrapped around her wrists, hidden in secret slots and pockets- Carth in contrast wore nothing more than a simple straight-lined duster, some grubby rugged cloths- and his now trademark beanie hat, pushing his bangs straw-like and flat in front of his forehead, bristlelysticking out- his style at the moment was bum chic)

"Let's just run in and stick up against a wall, try to find cover. Hyrule... this is going to be tough."

They looked at each other, silently wishing each other good luck and then sprinted forward, down low, timing it perfectly so just when the door was about to close they rolled in, through the gap. Then they quickly ran off to a side, trying to find something to duck behind- halfway through they simply stopped, out in the open, mouths gaping. Of all they had been expecting to find and see here- what was going on was not exactly one of them.

It was absolute pandemonium, a utter breakdown of all order and organization- the systems of command and the structures of authority had completely fallen apart- random individuals ran to and fro, abandoning their positions, people shouted orders going completely unheeded, their worried voices mixing together in the bedlam, fires raged out of controls, entire corridors and sections blocked out by smoke and flame, small vehicles crashed and skidded to avoid each other, unbalancing and spinning around madly in circles, electricity jumped from terminal to terminal, hopping to every electronic object with blinding lighting arcs, and one man, screamed, so loudly it cut through all the noise, high above everything else in a shrill voice- "kill him! KILL HIM!"

Mab looked to who the man, (a shorter black man with a high top haircut standing on a pile of boxes coming out of a trench, a slope, the bottom filled with poisonous gases wafting around, stranding him) was pointing his gun at- Revan stood in the middle of all the madness- breathing heavily, crouched slightly, dark eyes wild, looking like a hunted animal, a barbarian in the middle of a city, overwhelmed by all the hustle and noise, or chased by the city guard for some rule he could not possibly understand, beyond his savage mind, all of it becoming too much.

He was a tall, extraordinarily fit and muscular man (she saw his buff torso peaking through the yellowish gray rags that were strung around his chest, hanging in ripped and torn strands, barely anything remaining) with a lengthy square face, ending in a gigantic heroic chin, the cheeks slightly hollowed and caved in. His eyes were black and hidden, secret within deep sunken hollows, surrounded and tinged by purple skin. He had bushy angry eyebrows, and thick black hair, at the moment messy and sticking up in all directions. Dense black stubble graced his neck and chin, making him look like a grumpy furry bear.

He was in a combat position, holding a pike in one hand, the other covered in blood. He was heaving, and eyes were slightly mad and frantic, unfocused and animalistic, drugged, darting around- completely in the momentum of the battle. When Mab eyes made contact with his, he stopped in mid stride, all energy going out of him, his eyes widening and becoming shocked, his mouth dropping open, jaw slack, slumping, shoulders dropping.

Mab had the same feeling; she was completely overwhelmed by various sensations- for one it was like a presence she had known all her life had finally revealed its self, and the bond between them had just now suddenly came to the surface of her mind- and two she felt a powerful, overwhelmingly intimate connection physically and emotionally at that moment, his feelings his pains his arches running between the two like communicated over a taunt wire- it was too much much, a intense sense of who he was, a masculine presences surrounding her, her mind extending and opening up, the feeling like a second heart that has been beating slowly all along long, hidden deep within her chest, suddenly racing into motion, thudding out of control- not a phantom arm or leg acting up, the real one lost in an accident, but a phantom person, a twin, a shadow full of feelings connected to her, trailing off her long and wide, following her, suddenly appearing in existence at the turning on of a bright intense light that blinded and illuminated her at the same time (except he was not just her double, he was his own person and that was even worse, she couldn't process it all, not a living mirror transmitting every sensation, identical in thought and emotion; but a mirror turning dark, parts painted with strips of dripping color, pictures pasted on, the glass cracked and crumpled and melting and moving, its own individual, but still reflecting, yet still within showing dimly her form, the secret of who she truly was was in him, she was in him, somehow he knew her; and this was the highest level, the most powerful part of it, the most maddening, along the cord of pain she saw within him herself, the memories, the opinions, and within he saw the same, and it went back and forth, becoming more and more complex, a never-ending loop,)everything blurred, everything spun, she was dizzy, she wavered on her feat. In an instant, she knew him, she knew everything, nothing was hidden, nothing was secret, every single thought and feeling, the basic jist of it, was transmitted, was made simple, was summarized, clarified- there were not enigmas- she wasn't just on the edge of a revelation, she was immersed into it, plunged chaotically, it proved far too much, her mind was ripping itself apart, she tried to close herself off, to ignore it, to forget it, moving backwards slowly, about ready to fall over.

At the same moment, talking advantage of Revan's shocked halting, Brejik pulled out a detonator, and pushed it. There was a rumbling from above, a great falling, and the sky broke open, a massive crack rushing along it, and thousands of tons of stone and metal fell out; the foundations exploded and buildings fell from the sky straight down, holes suddenly opening up beneath them. One or two skyscrapers plunged out of from above and onto the stunned man, like a freight train falling vertically, crushing him, and breaking themselves, smashed story by story, He was pinned and knocked out. His last conscious words were "Bastila"

There was a cloud of dust and stone surrounding them, rushing at them, knocking them off their feet. They both stumbled along, barely avoiding flying rubble, going nowhere in particular, falling over and getting back up in a panic. "Is he dead? Is he dead" Mab kept asking, although she knew the answer to it; would always know the answer to it from this day on- his presence would always be there. She did not understand how, she could barely grasp it; her mind was full of confusion. In the fog and dust a small hand grabbed her and pulled her along, along rocks, and chunks of metal, towards safety.

"No I don't think so. He'll survive. I mean he's Revan, right!" said a high pitched voice, that of a girl.

They went around another gigantic pile and stopped for a moment, Carth coughing. "What the hell was that?"

"The gang leaders wire some explosions on the higher levels above strategic important points- it's a wise move. Then they go blow them up and drop buildings on armies or battalions heading there way, when the moment is right. I wouldn't of expected Brejik to have one in place right above his base of course but-"

"Who are you?"

Carth leaned forward (Mab was staring off blankly, eyes unfocused, almost in a trance, barely listening) squinting, shielding his eyes from the harsh environment. He vaguely saw a blue skinned Twe'lik, young, her entire body covered in black tattoos, including that of the Vulkars, a small one on her delicate wrist.

"I've been helping Revan! I started to talk to him as soon as they captured him- he's a good guy! Now I'm going to try to help you guys out too- this way, there's an exit here, come on. "She continued tugging, having to do so quite hard on Mab, practically dragging her along, bringing her through the maze of rock, until they reached a small door on the side, with a flickering sign.

"Ok, there's a swoop race coming up- the Vulkars stole a prototype engine a few weeks ago, so the Beks wouldn't have a chance (it was their only chance, you know?) but I heard because of all this crazyness, they managed to get it back. Ask them to use it, try to win Revan, do it fair and square. He wouldn't wake up before then, I'm sure of it, this might be your only chance. Now get out of here. Hurry. Before they get together and see me!

'You've been helping Revan?" Mab said, finally snapping out of it. "But you're just a child!"

The girl scowled, Mab seemed to have touched a nerve, some specific pet peeve. "I'm not a kid, I'm 15 years old!" she said petulantly, with snobby emphasis. "And if it wasn't for me, Revan's work would be even harder! Now go!"


	4. Chapter 4

_If you have been following along, silently, please take some time to leave a comment. I'm sure there's some of you still reading at this point, I've seen the favorites, alerts, and views; if you're one of them, you don't know how much it would mean to me! A short review would be great, just so I know someone is actually seeing this! I just need a little encouragement; my massive ego will do the rest! _

**Chapter Four: The Race; Racing Mind, Racing Body.**

The circular portal bulged out once violently, a large convex bump suddenly appearing in its center, a huge dent like someone pounding violently on the other side, groaned, twisted, and moaned, , and then exploded out of its frame forward, the jagged disk skidding across the floor. Revan strode through the hole immediately afterwards, stepping over the pointed pieces and chunks still attached to to the bottom part of the socket, not breaking his step, eyebrows close together; resolute. He stopped, pausing, and stared at Bastila's turned back intensely.

"There is no escape" He said surely; positive of this fact; not just speaking to her or threatening, but laying out unchangeable truths one by one. "There is no way out. You are surrounded at all angles. We have taken you by surprise. You ship is being disabled. There is no escape."

She turned, and glanced at him over her shoulder nonchalantly, completely unconcerned, hands behind her back, watching the space battle, as if he were no more than a fly on the wall; not deserving of her full attention, a small problem to be dealt with at half capacity. "Indeed I do not want to leave. This meeting was inevitable."

'The meeting yes-" he began to walk forward cautiously, slowly, "but not the fight. That can be avoided. Come back with me. You can be rehabilitated. You have fallen under The Exile's corrupting influence, just like everyone else-"

"No, she has stripped away my delusions. Do you really think I want to return to the order" She sounded incredulous, and a hint of outrage was beginning to creep into her speech, lighting up the deadness and making the depressed monotone excited and quick- the only thing that could alter the uncaring flat tone, give her a semblance of humanity, animate her features; one of the few emotions that had not atrophied yet- anger. "Their their little source of power? A fake champion, like you? To be their trophy Jedi? To be _your _trophy perhaps?"

Her voice was now teasing, arced and deliberate; sneering, trying to push his buttons, as if they had had encounters before and this was a topic dwelled on, and that she knew was sensitive to him, or they had studied each other from far and understood the other- his right cheek twitched.

"You know for a Jedi"-a cruel pause- "you are awfully cove-"

"Enough!" he commanded, "You know nothing of me-I am here to with an offer of peace; nothing more. It is my responsibility to do so." He closed his eyes briefly, regaining control of himself, and decided to persevere, ignoring her jibs.

"Bastila, turn yourself in. Remove yourself from the possession of command. Dismantle as much of The Atrocity Army as you can. This madness can still be stopped. Come back with me to Dantooine. I will protect you from those who want revenge. You can heal from whatever troubles made you become this way... "His hands were thrust out, imploring. "Do you remember Dantooine, Bastila? The fields... the wind through the long glass- the rolling hills on the horizon- a sim-" His manner was strange, unprofessional, not simply negotiating , or offering a deal that meant nothing to him personally, a required peace treaty, a mere formality expected to be shunned, throwing the chance of it out there, no serious investment in its success, but extremely dedicated to it, involved, every part of his body subtly leaning towards her as if pulled, tone soft and gentle, almost as if he was pleading with her; suddenly however he broke off, snapping straight up, forelock falling into his eyes, his tone becoming loud and sharp, in a ranting quick style,

"You knew this meeting was inevitable- you knew it was coming- yet you do not keep it private, you do not keep it a personnel affair- you do not except the destiny of this exclusive conflict, you invite others?' Absurdly, he appeared angry, offended, a spam flashed across his darkening face.

Four Dark Jedi stepped out of the shadows, knowing they could hide no longer. They wore headdresses made out of leather, hooding their faces, going down their back like short capes and from the shoulders connecting to their arms, forming long sleeve gloves; thick and bulky like ones used in butchering or factory work, diaphanous veils extending from the sides of the hood to cover the lower part of their features, hanging off onto their chests.

Bastila laughed haughtily, and finally turned around- it was a slow reveal, the spin of the shoulders languid, the face slowly coming into view like some diseased moon growing into fullness, first a sickle, a thin blade, nothing more than a curve of rough harshness, a few strands of her mask hanging, a hint of some scarred damaged materials, then half, giving Revan a glance at a skull wrapped in strips of cloth, the material graying and fraying- loosing thickness, beginning to look like corpse shrouds, rotting in tombs; then full, a triangular breathing mask attached to the mouth by suction, the plastic edges and flaps sticking on, a horrid orb facing front now, eyes glowering, sickly dying embers that could poof into flame at any moment to burn an unwary hand, tempting fate by getting close, thinking them safe-coals that were extinguished by the same nightmare wind whose effects could be felt on the entire galaxy- a gale that directed and controlled the blaze, spreading it like a wildfire, destroying everything it's path, while at the same time neutralizing the source, using but killing it- Bastila was trapped in some howling vortex, whispers and doubts and hissing words of madness, The Exile's deadening aura, slowly diminishing , her true rage long gone, yet the aftereffects of it still consumed the universe, and she herself could flare up occasionally if provoked, if fuel was added to the smoldering embers of her fading, conquered, personality.

"Do you think I'd waste my time fighting you? After all, I have to save something to throw to the dogs."

It was sad to see such a powerful man as him so affected by her contempt as he was; his pride and vanity suffering a blow every time she dismissed him; he scowled, crouching down, as the various Dark Jedi ignited their blades and got into fighting positions.

"I'll put them down like dogs", he muttered, growling under his breath, his lightsaber flying into his hand.

* * *

"How absolutely gracious of them to allow you to race as one of their champions" Carth said bitterly, sarcasm thick in his voice.

"No one's absolutely altruistic; Carth- that engine is their best option to win, yet-"

"The riskiest option too. I can't believe the real reason they're letting you drive is because they don't want to lose any of their men."

The two of them were standing in a large expectant crowd, formed around a busy dais filled with speakers and screens being prepared by technicians; the whole place (a slab of concrete on a roof) overlooking the beginning of the race track, a piece of ancient highway for terrain based vehicles, twisting through pillars and towers looming over, in parts cracked and tilted at an angle, large chunks not even fully connected, resting up against the sides of buildings for support, other areas still busy and roaring with traffic, gigantic semis blaring and honking, wind and dust rushing out from underneath them as their repuslers struggled to support their weight, buggies bouncing and riding rough over bumps and piles of debris, sometimes sticking to the drastic curves, hanging on, their inertia keeping them from falling off when the level surface turned to a side, strange contraptions, walkers and things that looked like mechanical spiders, going one leg at a time onward; rockets with wheels that blasted off haphazardly, missing their destination half of the time when there was a slight change in direction and they kept going straight, flying off the road; more an obstacle course then just a race track- but in the crowded chaotic world of Taris, everything was an obstacle course, including the simplest walk to the building next door; and in cases like these, where people had to prove their skill and honor, going up against insupportable odds, that's just the way they liked it.

"Mab... I'm a pilot... why not let me drive? We should consider all the options", said Carth, even though they had, had gone over it again and again and this was the best solution- he was only experiencing a last minute panic that caused him to analyze everything Ad nauseam, to attack the problem endlessly trying to think of different resolutions, regardless that all possible ones had already been dealt with, it had all been figured out, and all routes of of thought followed to their logical conclusions and settled, for no other reason besides nerves; compulsively going over old finished issues. For a caring man like Carth, this whole plot was especially wracking- seeing someone else's life risked, and this event planned upon, incorporated, and accepted; he would try to take the responsibilities from them even if they was better attuned to it, merely out a habit and because of who he was.

"Yeah you pilot big ships in control room- pulling on levers and pushing buttons, a nice wide room for you to wheel around in to different stations. The last one was the _Endar Spire_ for Force's sake, where you had a whole team helping you. Do you see a giant cockpit surrounding the seat of the hoverbike for you to reach around in and plot your courses, tweak your position, and let the AI take over when you're bored and want to take a nap? Any spot to put your feet up on, during that said nap? An easy accessible panel floating in front of you? Do you have any navigators and helmsmen sitting there with you, offering you assistance? It's just you, the bike and two handles man. Piloting skills doesn't come into it. My reflexes are better than yours, we're done the tests. Don't make me prove it again" she said tauntingly, raising her open palm suddenly, making as to slap him, a twinkle in her eye.

They had not actually decided who was to drive in a bout of hitting and eye poking and slap dodging; sitting in Gadon Theks office, after their long discussion with him, both grasped at moving holograms, touching them when they changed certain colors, spinning around floating balls, quicklytappingcertain segments and typing on specific spots, fingers racing and contorting, rotating and poking, clenching their fists at the right moments, eyes darting back and forth to keep up; at the end of the session, the scores had came out, and Mab outclassed Carth- although her reflexes were not as good as the veteran racers, for some reason she seemed to believe in the heat of the moment, somehow she would draw upon hidden reserves and do so much better, a contingency that seemed to happen frequently, a pattern both Carth and Mab had noticed, Mab taking it for granted, relying on it in her schemes- Carth mulling it over in his mind, finding it uncanny and strange how much she counted on such an uncontrollable thing, danger enhancing her skills- and how well, amazingly, it worked.

Carth chuckled, Mab staring at him, squinting childishly, lower lip plump, making a face, poised to strike at any moment, not breaking eye contact, and then she made a quick motion at him, and he flinched slightly, bringing up his arm. She halted, freezing, and then laughed, Carth joining in but stopping quickly, turning hesitant and reticent. Soon his brow clouded and he became serious. He grabbed her arm, still up in the air, and held it firmly in his grip, looked at her. "Mab... I'm worried-"

The man standing next to them, a member of the Hidden Beks assigned to them by Gadon, turned and spoke quietly after getting of his radio, "Gadon is going around talking to the individual leaders of the gangs. Hopefully, if one of them wins, they will understand the importance of releasing the prize."

"That might be a best bet- although this is exactly what we are trying to avoid dammit, this publicity.

"It can still be salvaged. Besides, he's only talking to the friendly ones, the ones he considers to have some responsibility, right, Thundoor?"

The agent, (wearing a suit, with thick backcombed hair hanging over his face, in messy tangles) said, "A few people we don't trust might find out that it's Revan in the process, by overhearing or eavesdropping, but I think it will be fine. And yes, if the Vulkars win..." He stared off into the distant, "We have a team mobilized."

Carth and Mab stood silent for a few minutes, feeling very disconnected from all the excitement and anticipation around them, the event of year, as gang leaders, old friends, worthy opponents, star crossed lovers, and hated enemies all bustled and hustled about, going from one cluster or person to another, sharing stories, rekindling old romances or feuds, sneering and threatening each other, updating the tall-tales and lies about themselves (oh yes, the rumor that I fought three rancor's with one old blade is true- it was my father's in fact) weaving a more cohesive mythology by spreading propaganda and boasting, all passing the time until the stages was secure enough for Brejik to step upon and give his speech. But yet underneath all this civility (as civilized as thugs with bones stuck through their noses, or ritual scarring, or the tiny withered heads of assassins sticking out of their front pockets can be {the skulls of dwarf murders, members of the tiny fey races, sneaks, hired to crawl through ducts and cracks, and prick with poison darts; having one of this miniscule mercenaries sent costing a fortune was obviously a great honor, meaning you were high up enough that the powerful people were worried about you, and of course some trophy had to be kept around for surviving the encounter) underneath all the non dangerous rough housing, restrained verbal abuse, and mockery and foolery; there was worry, and tension, and seething disagreement, the arguments this time weren't about who had the most lovers {or who pleasured them the most} or the most expensive swoop bike, simple petty ones brought up out of tradition, continued from the last meet, old worn bickering, driven into the ground, debated time and time again simply for the joy of it, to outrage and tease; there were worried whispers about explosions, betrayals, and planted bombs, there was plots, everyone was armed, the moving back or forth was not just for conversation; but slipped in between sentences and discussions, said off to the side with specific partners pulled away, in offhand remarks with hidden meaning, alliances were made, and contingencies planned on: there was a feeling of a terrible conflict about to come to head at the slightest touch-

Mab felt this was Revan's doing, although she didn't quite understand how- but she beginning to see that such a thing was possible, it could be done; everything was linked and interconnected together, and the simplest manipulation could have dramatic effects. These strange insights and leaps of intuition, that happened more and more frequently every day threatened her feelings of a logical ordered world, presenting something chaotic and infinitely complex, random yet malleable, incomprehensible in the whole yet accessible- or at least beyond the world she thought was real, one of greater order and structure existed, making the one she was accustomed to seem laughably simple.

Either way, all this overload of awareness and thought, the jumps, the new ways of looking at the world that occurred to her suddenly, the shifts in perspective, the widening and broadening of her mind and senses, the persistent feeling of someone else there, unbearably close, lighter than a caress, softer then breath on the back of one's neck, or hands through hair flying in the wind, less noticeable then eyes staring, roving over her, thinking thoughts and making secret wishes from afar, hidden and watching; this plus so much more, the mental confusion of her identify and the idea that something was missing or hidden; it all came together to overwhelm her almost beyond coherence, itches that could not be scratched, blocks and places she dared not go, broken thought processes that lead to gaps and madness; swirled together into one erratic mess, a manic rush as the contradictions enlarged and spread; it was frightening and strange, but at the same time deeply exciting, she was growing, one the cusp of a new age of her life, she was finally looking within, introspective like never before, her self was no longer dull and stale, dealing with the days one by one, in a numb routine, but tumultuous, and the hysteria was worth it; the prick of pain at the same time bringing pleasure, these problems of the ego gave her life a new complexity and richness while pulling her down into a feverish whirl, an almost delirious stage of questioning and meditation- she pushed past all the chaos, choosing the pieces of her that made sense and bringing them to the front to project a stabile image, created one in fact by this very act, analyzing what she could, ignoring the rest, and pretending she was perfectly fine and normal with the leftovers, skilled at this, letting the facts and ways of behavior crammed into her head, that she felt no real connection with, run on autopilot while underneath the surface reveling and suffering in the enigmatic high of who she was.

A woman, wearing stern business cloths, looking like a secretary on an errand, someone delivering an office memo instead of a solider bringing orders and news, pushed through the mass and walked up to them, holding a transmitter, nodding curtly at Thundoor. "Gadon is going to get on stage and make an announcement. Try to stop this before it even starts."

Both Mab and Carth's mouths dropped, and they reached for the radio in astonishment; Mab got it first however, because she added to her reaction of simple shock, grabbing wildly, something more; she shrieked, "Give it to me!", and ripped it out of the stunned women's outstretched hands; which had moved forward without her even thinking; as people sometimes will do when ordered forcefully, all of a sudden. Mab held it for a second, paused and then handed it to Carth, who immediately spoke into it.

"Gadon are you on here?! Are you on this channel?!"

"Yes- Carth I'm in the middle of an operatio-"

"No! Call it off! Hyrule, move away from the stage. The less people the better, right. This isn't part of the plan!"

"My snipers have an opening, Brejik is walking on stage without everything fully set up, this is the chance. We only have a couple minutes. I can have him shot, and get on stage and try to take control. Maybe this race can be cancelled. Maybe I can convince them to do the right thing."

"It's too risky! This has already gone far enough!"

There was a pause and then Gadon said, "Very well- I'm disappearing back into the crowd. But we still have a clear-"

"If Brejik gets assassinated there will be chaos unless you take control. And we can't have you do that either! Call it off! CALL IT OFF DAMMIT!

Gadon had panic in his voice, "You heard the man- this was a mistake!" There was suddenly chatter, numerous voices speaking back and forth, blocking each other out, giving orders over each other.

"I don't think-"

"Horngin, where are the failsafes-"

"Deragga! " someone swore, " Deragga-LA-DE! He's under radio silence! Own our cursed fault, we told him too-"

"Talk to me Gadon! Talk to me, what's happening", Carth shouted, his eyes wide, Mab gripping tightly onto his arm, scanning the crowd and the surrounding buildings.

There was a voice of a man panting and running; the sounds of his shoes hitting ground, and labored breathes audible, "I don't know if it can reach him in time- I don-"

Mab's eyes flicked to a window high up, and saw a man with a gun, raising the scope to his eye- at the same minute Brejik began walking towards the front of the stage confidently. A few seconds later, there was a shot- the silhouette was knocked aside by another one in a running tackle, the beam barely missing Brejik. Automatically, a turret on the stage, half nailed into the ground, swirled and launched rockets at the face of the building; it exploded, the side falling out in a shower of mortar. Brejik smirked, glad that he was able to demonstrate proof of his might.

"Let it not be said that just because this is my first time hosting, security is inadequate."

He scanned the crowd slowly, eyes moving indolently, confident and unhurried, not avoiding contact or looking away quickly, to try to hide or cover up the fact that he was staring at them, but boldly lingering on certain members without any unease, hoping they noticed uncomfortably, so he could establish his authority and silently dare any challenges; stare them down, all the while searching for his father, taking his time. Satisfied that he had made enough people nervous and displayed his lack of fear and powerful arrogance, he raised his hands and began his speech.

"And let it not be said that the prize is not the most glorious in our long line of history. I give you an oracle, to predict the outcomes of races, a poison tester to scan the minds of those around you for treason, a sage, a lore master and a wiseman; perhaps even a guardian, if you break him to your will. I have prisoner, a Force Sensitive", he motioned, and his men pulled the sheet off a large rounded cage in the direct center of the stage, behind him; in it Revan sat; the crowd jostled and pushed, and craning her neck, Mab could barely see him.

"We all know what a valuable commodity such a thing is. He is restrained with a neural disrupter, drugged with chemicals of my specific design and making; chained and bound; beaten and punished, This is all the gift, and over time, I am sure, he will take the right hand at your side, a cloaked magician, offering advice, using his powers to your advantage. When all hope is lost and he accepts his lot, broken down and old, you will have an extraordinarily slave- a most amazing prize!"

"He's right about that", muttered Carth. "It was quite a lucky find for him. His first year- the money already draining out of his pocket, and instead of having to come up with this huge prize that would probably bankrupt him or face derision and scorn, this falls into his lap. This will definitely get him the fame he wants; he's not just pushing forward a small pile of gold or a building; something that would make people people sneer at him and call him poor and stringy; saying he's not ready for the big leagues, he's offering this. What a fortunate turn of events. But if he thinks Revan's going to willingly offer his assistance, become a servant to the winner, he's doesn't know him."

"Maybe it doesn't matter."

"Hmm?"

"Well he pans Revan off to somebody else, maybe somebody less equipped, but then he breaks free, as we all know he will eventually, Brejik can just say it's their fault. So he doesn't actually care if they can hold him or not. He gave them the tools, they're the ones who didn't do it right. It will just make them look bad that they lost him, and Brejik even more powerful- Revan was causing trouble from the moment they captured him- maybe this fantasy Brejik talking about was his original plan of what to do with him, but now realized it's impossible, and is just trying to dope someone else into it. Get rid of him, out of his hands."

"-And that is only one of the dramatic changes I have made to our traditions! I am the wave of the future!" He held out his hands even further extended, as if expecting applause- a few of his staged men clapped and that seemed to satisfy his ego- no one contradicted or disagreed with him; most listened and watched intently while a few Beks whispered in clusters angrily amongst themselves- Brejik's smile widened as he finally caught sight of his father weaving through the crowd to the edge; the only person not staring fixated on him, with his back turned.

"Now I am sure you are all excited as I am to start this. The pit stops and entry way to the track are over there, the viewing fences are lower down the slope- allow the drivers and crew to make their way there first. Cheer on all champions! As your host I wish you luck! May the best mind win!"

He ended and nodded majestically, bowing his head pompously in different directions; there was no fanfare this time; at the end of this speech, like at the end of all of them, the mobs did not stick around to discuss amongst themselves the meaning, give their support, shout remarks, or politely wait for further signs of dismissal ; these men of action, simply, if convinced at the end of an oration, (or realizing they had reached the finish and where free to do what they had been waiting for) immediately mobilized, almost eerily quiet, without buzzing conversation, autonomously , an independent action for each person, unreliant on anyone else, getting the job done. The crowd broke apart at once and began moving towards the pit stops; Mab and Carth pushed against it trying to get a closer look at Revan.

At the very edge of the emptying out stage, a Rodian came up to them with a computer screen and began interrogating them, inquisitive and slightly annoyed, "What are you doing up here? I don't have you on any of my lists-" Mab kept walking towards him briskly and then stabbed him in the side with a dagger all in one fluid movement, grabbing on to him and pulling him close, to hide the blade and the struggle; she felt of pang of something- not quite regret, but empathy with his pain, and sadness that it came to this, and held onto him longer then needed when he collapsed at her, slipping out of her locked arms, legs completely limb, kicking slightly; she stared down at the bubbles of blood coming out of his mouth with a intent face as he slid against her. This happened so quickly, and the feeling was so faint however that it was only a disturbed moment of hesitation, a few seconds later as she shifted him into Thundoor's arms, who held tight around him from behind, keeping the dying man standing up, and she walked away, it had faded into her subconscious.

Two Niktos with the scaly skin scraped off their faces, showing bone like gleaming mask, their cheeks and foreheads white and blunt, as was the custom with some religions of that planet, guarded Revan, both holding large clubs. The blue Twi'lik was behind them, leaning against the cage, one leg bent behind her and looking around nervously. When she saw them, she brightened and ran at them.

"Good good good! This all works out then! And they let me stand by him, after pleading for the thousandth time, so they obviously don't suspect a thin-"

Mab glanced significantly at the guards, but the Twi'lik shook her head, "Don't worry about it. They're just dumb brutes. They're not listening at all. Come on, you can even get closer. "

They followed her to the very edge of the cage, the rigid guards barely glancing at them, busy staring straight ahead and trying to look as intimating as possible, and examined Revan. He sat, dirty and stinking, hunched over like some beast confined, no room to stretch or run in a zoo of cruel publicity, tired of being poked and prodded, exhausted and trying to get some shut eye before the next group of bullies and pointing tourists came, to block out the world with fluttering eyelids and ignore the shouts for tricks and the pounds on glass with weak snores. He was wearing a straightjacket, **arms wrapped tightly around him,** a broken and bent neural disrupter cutting into his tall brow like a crown of thorns; his eyes were smashed shut, blooded and bruised, and he was sleeping heavily, breathing deep ragged breathes, that caught and stopped ominously.

"The moment he started talking to me, I knew I just couldn't leave him alone. He asked what a smart kid like me was doing with punks like the Vulkars... No one's ever called me smart before... I didn't want to disappoint him- he said I was better than all of this. The first couple times I had to turn his restraining collar off, but after that he somehow managed to override it himself; and was off crawling through the entire place's ventilation ducts and running around, always making it back before someone noticed- although there was a couple calls, where I had to cover for him. I was his girl on the inside you know- me and him were a regular bunch of spies. It was kind of fun, tricking them all."

"Do... do you want to talk to him?" she asked hesitantly, like a girl bringing out her pet, or one of her objects at show and tell to a group of kids; possessive and protective.

"I'm not sure that's such a goo-

"No it's fine-

"It doesn't even look like he can-"

"He always wakes up immediately when I talk to him. Sometimes I would have to tell him important information and then his eyes would snap open right away- it's crazy! But I guess it's a Jedi thing, huh? And you know what, he wouldn't get annoyed or grouchy with me at all- sometimes when I wake people up they would yeeeeeelll and screeeam at me for disturbing their rest- I accidently bump into something outside their door, knocking over a pile or a stack, or am sent as a messenger, and they get so irritated! Telling me to stop sneaking around. Shouting at me for trouncing and banging into stuff. Say they need rest- they're been through a lot- but Revan been through more Grodey then all of them put together and he never got pisssed when I bothered him...so yeah right!- They're all just schuttas!"

"I really think we should just leave him-"

'Hey Revan" she said softly, knocking on one of the bars, ignoring them in a way that was perfectly charming- not in an obstinate stubborn manner, but as if she was so into what she was doing she didn't even hear them. "Two Republic Soldiers" Carth and Mab both flinched at her boldness, looking around nervously, out of instinct to see if anyone was listening. "-are here to see you. Wake up..." she whispered, calling, leaning in closer.

His eyes almost instantly blinked, and it was amazing to see how quickly tiredness and the daze left them, automatically becoming alert and focused, moving about his environment and locking on to things of importance. He stared at them silently, and then looked at them one by one. "Mission", his voice was deep and baritone, tingled with weariness, she nodded and smiled widely, "Carth Onasi, pilot; it is good to see you alive." His eyes stopped on Mab, and he paused for a moment, thoughtfully,"....Mab Argonberth "

"Sir, we're here to rescue you. We're entered the race hoping to win you as a prize; it's messy, unprofessional, and risky, I know, but it's our best bet."

"I don't doubt it... Who is racing among you?" he said, even as his eyes lay on Mab, almost as if he couldn't take them off her; Mab was standing a little farther back then everyone else, nervous and trying to remove herself from the conversation, remaining unnoticed, uncharacteristically bashful like a child hiding behind their parent's arm; peeking scared but still curious and wanting to be involved in the discussion; occasionally piping up timidly; the strange feeling was fainter then their last meeting; although no gone entirely; it was as if his movements, his tone, how he talked and looked, was clearer then everyone else, in a sharper focus- in relief, with more meaning, with more inference- there was an energy behind him that highlighted all he did, and made him the focus of her vision to the exclusion of everything else, he stood out to her in a way that she didn't think he would to Carth; he made sense to her, like she intuitively understood him and this informed and gave background information to all he did, explaining every single twitch and expression, making it all easily comprehended. Besides this she had a terrible pounding headache that gained in strength the nearer she got, and random flashes and aches of what felt like memories of pain from long ago. She could not rationalize or master any of this, but it was balanced out and rendered less terrible by the fact that there was also the strange feeling from his end- that he was fascinated with her, drawn to her as much as she was to him- and could barely hide it. He regarded her with equal obsession.

"Mab here. She has the best reflexes."

He stared at her unblinkingly, but she saw him perceptibly swallow; and felt a swift pang of fear she could not be completely sure was her own; she could not yet differentiate between the mess of feelings seeping through into her mind; although it was completely possible that the mention of her job had suddenly reminded her, agitating the butterflies in her stomach. "I am not surprised"

"There are a few our gang members on our side too."

He nodded, and then lurched to his side, jerked suddenly, as he was pulled off balance; his body was coiled in chains and a link coming off his legs began to crank up into the top of the cage, dragging him, causing him to fall over uncomfortably, and gradually pulling him upside down, from a huddled heap to a swinging bundle.

"Brejik must be activating more security measures just in case; so he can't escape when everyone's distracted", Mab said.

"Extra precautions" Carth said.

The two guards seemed to begin to become sick of them at around the same time; the group had overstayed their welcome, getting on their nerves, and they gestured for them to leave, closing their clubs together, crossing them, and shoving the weapons forward threatening. Revan, his shoulder, head and cheeks smashed against the ground, his torso hanging, dangling, twisted and slumping, said to Mission, "Accompany them to the pit stops. Stay away from this area..."

"But I want to-"

"Go..." he paused, "Remember what we talked about" now completely upside done, straight, swinging gently, arms wrapped around him; he took one glance at the floor and sighed, shaking his head, as a noxious yellow gas began seeping out of tiny nodes in the cage, overflowing and leaking out the sides, not seeming to bother the Niktos.

They walked away, distressed, down a slope to a shallow bowl, the perimeter circled by various gates, booths, and entry ways. Moving through the rows and columns of bikes surrounded by tubes, mechanics, whirling fans, and robotic arms, propped up by stands and metal poles that pushed against multiple sides and angles, dozens of tiny thin sticks of steel holding them up like centipede legs, with larges twisting masses of flimsy plastic tunnels removing exhaust and adding certain gases creating a thick bed -like cushion underneath, tangled and multilayered, they reached the work area for Mab's swoop.

An Iktotchi wearing a long white robe with golden tassels looked up at them, "Where have you been?" Even though Mab was only one of the racers competing for Gadon (majors gangs in the area normally were allowed five entries- while minor ones had to choose wisely on one- depending on borders, what would be considered a small faction in one district would have more power in a different one, where their base of operations was- so they could send a single submission to each competition in a location they even had a little influence in, thereby maximizing their chances- the Tarisian Opener was a collection of events- each district hosted one at the same time - all and all across the globe a thousand races were occurring at the identical hour- marathons across burning sands (crumpled melted plastics and the pebbles of ground up ancient masonry forming sharp shifting desserts- heated by the Underworld) through buildings, up stairways, across rooftops, screaming civilians jumping out of the way, the gangsters holding their competition in plain sight, bursting through planes of glass, blazing across meetings and tables and desks; along wires in the tangled communication zones, where old collections of buildings that dealt with the management and packaging of information strung cords to and fro to talk and transmit data without interference from radio wave pollution, the bikes racing around and around the intricate webs doing laps and loops in gigantic city sized satellite dishes for interplanetary signaling- this fragmentation, decentralization, of the games actually benefitted Taris and got it its position as starter of the swoop season; it was not just one major race, confined and monitored; the whole planet was ablaze with an uncontrollable excitement, the larger impact of the one chaotic day by default ranking it above all the other worlds, making it the leader out of sheer energy.) she was still important to his plans, and required for them.

"Busy." she grunted, and connected the straps of her thin leather helmet, pulling goggles over her eyes. "How's the bike looking?"

'It's ah... good." The whole thing appeared pretty standard, except for the back, which had a glass cylinder laid in it, a glowing green; smaller version of the shape nestled inside, with a wave of energy oscillating around it, twisting and curving.

"I'm not going to get radiation positioning from this I am?"

"No we've... hem ahh... we've discovered that the green glow riders are sometimes left with is purely cosmetic; just try not to crash. The results could be devastational."

"Can't you tinker with it a little or something, try to make it safer?"

"With what, a hydropspanner? This is a nuclear reactor; I can't just twist a couple bolts and make it less dangerous."

"Oh Manifest..." she whimpered, putting a hand across her forehead.

"It's not too late to call this whole thing off", said Carth quietly, walking close to her and tilting his head down to try to look into her eyes.

"It's not too late to be a coward either. I knew the risks when I started this mission." She said and swung her leg over the swoop bike matter of factly.

"Look guys- maybe we keep me talking to Revan and we can figure something out. Send me back to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah- we have Mission now Mab. It's a new option. We should consider it."

Mab settled herself down on the seat, positioning herself just right, and began talking to the Iktotchi, asking various questions, turning on certain failsafes, zipping up her jacket.

Carth put his hand on her shoulder, "Mab as your superior officer-" he said, trying to make his voice stern, gathering up his authority

"What?" she said, turning back and staring at him silently, challenging him.

He paused for a moment, the evidence of the debate with himself on his face. "..." He closed his mouth, which had been open slightly, tongue touching his teeth, as he hesitantly decided on what to say, then licked his lips and pressed them together, eyes flicking back up at her face" Good luck" he finally replied.

* * *

Channels burst open, portcullises lowered into the ground automatically, various walls receded; the race was in the process of beginning, and all the blockades, in front or to the sides of the bikes were falling away; some simply tipped over on hinges, bouncing off the ground once or twice, while fence doors swung wide, a few were bumped and nudged by a bike moving a couple inches forward, gently opening at a hit, with others being knocked roughly to the floor, ran over, smashed, the carved heads of the some swoops (looking like monsters and beasts) ramming into them, lurching suddenly ahead, violently, using their tusks and horns, made out silver and steel, to obliterate them to smithereens , shots of gunpowder and other explosions blasting out of artistically formed mouths and holes and barrels; finally with the crumpling of a chain link fence as a dozen or so bikes in the left wing of the layout (each of these confines blocked different regiments of the racers; it was very disorganized, so some walls only stopped one or two people, while others obstructed a whole section; some racers were far up, everyone on their side stopped by the same wall, while others were in the back with tiny personal walls in front of them, the people next to them corralled into a different lane- a mishmash of steel and wood) bumped into it impatiently, like a mob climbing and pulling on a fence, shaking it, causing it to fall, trampled and crumpled to the road, tipping over, not withstanding any more hits, the last obstruction was removed.

A horn was sounded; Brejik was standing on a rickety wooden podium, a small tower, which the swoops would have to move around to get past. "Show your skill! Prove your might!" He grabbed a large match, the size of a staff, and struck it against the side, lighting it on a fire, swinging it as he spoke. "Meet the glory of this occasion with some of your own. Meet _my_ glory with some of your own. For this is certainly the most historical race ever, due to me, and anything done here will be remembered! For fame!" Bringing his arm back, he hit the flaming brand against the edge of a cannon pointing up against the sky and it launched a firework, exploding into the horizon, releasing thousands of tiny sparkling drones, with trails of red and gold, whirling above the crowd, sending out beams of color, and then shooting forward like comets overhead- they were shaped like swoop bikes and mimicked the race. It was on.

Mab's bike reared up like a wild stallion, the front high up in the air, roaring, (adding her voice to the cacophony of different technology, bizarre engines that sang, or shrieked, buzzed like bees, clicked and clanked, expelled air through thin organ like pipes, and made moaning tunes, that bubbled and spat and hissed, warbled, and made the air around them strange, breaking glass and sending ripples) and she then blasted forward like this, twisting the throttles whenever someone was in her way, the back bouncing up and over them, hopping, giving her a quick head start by avoiding any jams.

Carth recalled Gadon telling Mab about this and many other tricks, and he specifically noticed that what she was doing now matched the steps laid out in one particular set of advice. _"Slam your front onto the guy's back, after coming doing from a floating frontal and then speed forward._" The topic had been how to knock out and eliminate racers with one's bike- Carth looked back and forth, a little put off. "So she's going that route..." he said apprehensively, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah cool! It hope she rams into that guy next her to. He's such a schutta!"

"No I'm sure she'll be a better sport then tha-... oh dear."

After Mab drove over the racer in front of her, she heard a satisfying crunch; the bottom of her bike had bashed him in the head, sending his face into the controls and breaking his nose- he fell into unconsciousness and spun out of control. She landed in front of him, both repulsers level to each other now (it was faster this way and more stable- although less obstacles could be avoided) and tore forward, taking the first major curve. Side by side with another competitor, hovering above the road that was almost a wall, she briefly disengaged a few gravity safety holds, and now attached herself to him, slowly, by turning her bike , angling it, and pulling up**, **precarious and careful, constantly adjusting herself, a extraordinarily dangerous maneuver, a balancing act where the slightest mistake could send her into a crash; so while he was going sideways, she was now, after the trick was completed, directly above him, keeping pace. This continued on for a few seconds, her shadow over him, his hair blowing wildly, and then she moved her bike slightly to the slight left, still taking all the precautions, delicate and focused; it was like walking on a tightrope, one wrong step would have disastrous consequences. They were not completely overlapped anymore, and she tilted the bike up, horizontally, and then let the side drop, swinging it down, rocking it in his direction so the the bottom rammed into him and sent him swerving.

She then finished the turn, and continued forward, with three other racers on her sides, and two in front of her, everyone else was either far behind, or a little ahead. It was then that she realized, in shock, at once, that most of the race, most of the track, a good 90 percent of it, was heading directly into incoming traffic. She shrieked, and dropped under a semi roaring over her, ducking, keeping her head down, flattening her body, and then swiftly had to dodge three or four cars, shifting rapidly to the right and left, bouncing back and forth across the lane, her shoulders flexing side to side so fast they blurred - the rest of the racers didn't even seem to seem to care and in fact expected it; they modulated their speed and curved over the tops of vehicles, jumped, flipping over, let their swoop bikes crash through buses, smashing their way through to the other side, and then landed on the seats, or did as she did, and turned and altered their course rapidly. She evaded two more cars in quick succession, flew over one, and just barely missed a small aircraft, a gray fighter jet, zooming low, and then had to curve around a massive armored truck, a tank with hover pads, clearing its way through, grills and spikes on its side.

A few more frantic equivocations , and she found herself in between two long segmented transports resembling trains , expelling exhaust out of pipes on various intervals on their top, with what appeared to be sails, shining like white sheets lit with the morning sun, on the sides, that moved like snakes through the traffic, curving and bending, their many parts creating a S winding to some sections on one side, or the other, taking up the entire width- cars leapt over, their headlights flashing briefly as extra power was routed to their engine, or raced alongside, while swoop bikes tried to find good jumps on top of other vehicles to circumvent this obstacle- Mab stayed in the middle of them, a safe sheltered spot, as they rushed forward and she went backward, creating an alleyway of sorts, lengthy enough to provide cover for a while- a few others thought so as well; they banged into each other and Mab, punching and kicking, trying to shove each other into the roaring walls. One jabbed Mab in the jaw, blood flew from her mouth, and she then moved up the side of the train, grabbed his head from above at an angle and slammed it twice against the steel sides. As she let go he spun into another, both of them tangling up into each other, in a mix of arms, legs, and rammed together parts- Mab was now on the top of the train, having edged her way up, the wind rushing at her- it was secluded on there; with only two other riders, secure and secret from the rest of the racers, using it to their advantage. One of the racers the furthest down noticed her and lifted a hand in a slight wave; he seemed friendly enough, so she didn't formulate an attack plan; instead she flicked a few toggles and zoomed forward to the sound of her engine making bizarre accelerating noises, gathering in volume and pitch. She caught up to him and stayed as his side- they were rapidly approaching the end of the train- the combined speed of the bikes and the unusual vehicle moving meant they would have to get off soon. The rider next to her reached at his holster and pulled out a small rectangle- Mab immediately flinched and raised a fist- but all he did was lean over the sides and project a sharp skinny laser, running it down the back of the train, from the bottom to a few feet to the top. This thick chunk, a strip of metal, flapped and bounced in the wind. They looked each other, counting the seconds as the edge drew closer, bracing themselves, then nodded and shot off, down the incline, this ramp, landing on the ground roughly. A cluster of other racers surged past, cutting in between Mab and the man- she then briefly got in a grappling fight with a Twi'lek, managed to disengage herself, and shoved herself away.

She was now at the vanguard of the racers, but nowhere near first; the leaders were in triangle formation, jostling with each other, and the rest of those doing well were scattered about in between the two lines of the vertex or behind them. They came to a road, broken and smashed, the rest missing, leaning over three concurrent pathways lower down like a cliff- and flew off the side, all in one mass, like a stampede frightened and going heedlessly to their deaths, deploying their parachutes, gliders, or enhancing the gravitational thrust of their repuslers as they fell; Mab grimaced, and squinted, eyes focused, and twisted her throttles to the max, shooting forward, over the edge, a blaze of green blur behind her. As they descended she continued streaking above, her momentum making her fly, and gradually tilted her course back down, eventually leveling to the ground, now out of control, faster than anyone else, only a few riders in front of her, as she blasted on the middle course.

She finished another curve, barely- and came upon the scene of a crash; there was a massive pile of jumbled cars and swoop bikes with flames above, obscuring the view, the heap of jagged metal crushed and smashed together. A bike headed into it- and a few yards away a jet of laser struck it, blowing it up. Three more bikes zoomed past, unable to stop, and were shot- spinning out of control into the mess, rapidly becoming an infernal. There was honking and shrieking, and a shadow, a dark smoky outline of a large semi appeared. At the same time a metallic rusty red arm pointed to the side, and shot out a rope, low down; it attached to a skyscraper wall, anchoring itself. As the semi burst through, pushing rubble and twisted metal in front of it, it hit the rope, and was flipped over on its back, skidding towards Mab. Mab barely had any time to think, heading directly at it. As it slid across the ground, sending off sparks, a rocket hit it, and caused it to combust; she was flying directly into a large mushroom cloud of fire. She screamed and closed her eyes; expecting nothing but death.

With heat on her skin, and light piercing her eyelids, inches away from the blaze rushing at her, expanding, she felt something hit her on the side, knocking the wind out of her and bruising her rips, saw a vague outline of blurry movement, and was pulled off her bike, a hulk wrapping its body around her. The explosion rushed over them. When she looked around and opened her eyes, she saw Revan holding on tightly, large **hirsute** arms wrapped around her protectively, his straightjacket almost all burned off, his back black and charred, hair singed; he had shielded her from the flames. She twisted in his grip and looked past his shoulder, chin on it- out of the catastrophe stepped a large walking tank, a mechanized weapon, its silhouette lined with destruction.

"Joyful Salutations: Hello Master!" it cried in a gleeful, sardonic voice.

**------------**

The monstrosity continued stomping forward, the ground shaking, its feet slowly lifting up and then brought down, cracking the earth; it was the size of three men. More bikes whizzed past- it elevated its arms, gigantic Gatling Guns connected to each one, that continuously spun and buzzed, and picked most of them off, single shots, (able to change its rate of fire) aiming and pointing the guns quickly in all directions; rockets occasionally shooting out of its shoulders area.

"WM-33" shouted Revan, croaking and coughing as he lifted Mab up in his arms, "Stop! Take us back to the spectators!

"Agreement: Certainly Master. These fleshtubes are far too easy prey anyways. "A bike neared him- WM-33 brought his large foot back and punted it. "How idiotic of them to ride fast, dangerous moving devices like these. Observation: It's like they're not even trying to be a challenge!"

WM-33 started to sprint towards them, gaining speed. Halfway it vaulted, landed and began a roll, the heavy piece of machinery curled, end over end, gigantic and not limber at all, but still doing the movement roughly; the whole thing extremely intimating; bulk in motion like that was a extraordinary sight. At the finish of the gyration it pushed off, leaving handprints in the cement, and flew through the air, going down into another one. Two more rolls later, it reached near Revan and Mab, and flipped over them, coming within an inch of Revan's head, it's massive body arching above, to avoid them, smoothly, like a curve of thrown water from a glass, As it fell, Revan crouched and then jumped, landing on an alcove in its back. There were handlebars , grips, buttons, niches and steps for his feet and screens; Mab realized in shock that this was what Revan had ridden into Taris' atmosphere; for some reason The Tactician had a robot based on the designs of a Basilisk War Droid; however they had gotten separated was what probably lead to his capture and this present dilemma . WW-33 ran forward, shooting as it went, its laser cannons revolving so fast they blurred.

Mab glanced back and forth in a panic as the droid went, wind blowing her bangs and ringlets wildly about, eyes not focusing on one thing for long; the robot was a orange-red color, with a flat area where it's nose and mouth would be if humanoid that then curved onto the top of its head- on each side of this projecting feature, dialogical, shining slants served as eyes. Something on its shoulder caught her attention; she did a double-take not believing her eyes, quizzical confused expression on her face, while Revan simply looked ahead, knuckles white as he clutched the handles - an utility droid locked on with magnetic clamps lay, projecting a steady unbroken cutting laser in front of it, screaming, "doooooooooooot" excitably as they charged forward, guns blazing, all rockets firing.

Out of the rubble on the side, a large bus exploded and began racing near them, to the right, its huge plush gray wheels bouncing and getting slightly squished and flattened as they rotated. Another yellow bus a little bit ahead suddenly had its bottom burst off, pushed open by expanding pressure, as wheels suddenly inflated; a claw tipped it upright and the spinning wheels sent it forward. They had been hover vehicles that WM-33 had disabled, part of the security force from the Vulkars patrolling nearby. Both raced alongside, machine guns and laser rifles poking out of the windows, fired by gangsters, as the buses swerved back and forth through the destruction, a steady barrage hitting the war machine. One thug reached in back, out of a case, and retrieved a long skinny weapon, open faced, a thin metal rectangle, cut down the middle with a small channel that glowed with blue energy- it was a rail gun, and loaded with a nuclear slug. WM lifted one foot and slammed it down on the bus to his left, crushing it slightly, piercing the roof, all the way to his ankle inside the hole. He raised it again, the bus attached, stuck around, and then bashed it against the wall, by kicking it, smashing the front in folds of twisting metal, throwing everyone out, shooting forward or incapacitating them. He then set it down and stepped on the other one, pouncing. In the same momentum, he lurked forward, crouching down, and began to lift his feet and strike them against the ground occasionally- like someone using rollerblades. In this manner, they zoomed forward.

"Avoid civilian deaths", Revan ordered.

"Wistful Objection: Master, how hard do I have to try to convince you to do anyway with the category "civilians"? Why can't everyone just be filed under, "enemy combatants"?"

They had reached the beginning of the race, and skidded around a curve past it, WM now simply coasting. Connected to the start closing the loop was a high turn that went right up to the lip of the audience section, separated by nothing but a fence. WM-33 rolled up it, and then flew over the barrier, landing in a crouching position. Almost eveyone in the massive riot, triggered by Revan's escape, orchestrated and manipulated some time in advance, paused and turned to the robot, stunned. WM began firing- it all dissolved into anarchy.

Revan and Mab leapt from his back, holding on to each other as they spring, and then the Jedi Master let go of her hand and spun away into battle, disappearing. She pulled her gun out of the holster and began firing, taking out Vulkars and others (mainly deciding by whether they were attacking the Beks or not) with shots to the head, not risking anything else, anything they could survive.

She glanced around- Carth was in the middle of a gigantic fighting mass, not even bothering to fire at any people in particular, knowing that couldn't make a dent in the massive forces arrayed; instead, as was common with skilled gunslingers, because of their unlimited ammo, he acted in a way similar to the strategy of being a nuisance, he fired at the environment, breaking and destroying it, trying to kill large amount of foes at once; a sign's cord was hit; it swung and knocked over five or six people, a tank was lanced; it exploded, a part of the stage crumpled, crushing a large regiment of people- everywhere a invisible hand moved, manipulating, cutting pierces off, weakening and debilitating supports, smashing people under falling baloneys, poles, and ornaments; the city provided ample resources to turn the battlefield into a trap and weapon-the tiny gray robot (trashcan lid head, a simple eye like a flashlight set in) was bouncing into people sneakily and shoving them off edges, while shouting a battle cry as it lunged (BWAAAAAAA!), fire and electricity shooting out of its multiple compartments- WM-33 unleashed a barrage, titanium rotary barrels as fast as they could go, and Mission danced gracefully, wielding two nanoassembled axes, light as air, smashing people in the face.

She shook her head, feeling stupid- just by glancing over, trying to find her comrades, she had a sight of how truly large this conflict was- she should act like Carth and try to effect the big picture- her one kills weren't doing anything anyways- try to locate the commanders, the leaders of certain groups, where people were concentrated and where they gathered, the lines of movement, the zones of danger, and their relations, what people's goals are, what chances they thought they had , their morale, and what risks they would take...

Revan suddenly whirled past, spinning a huge hammer around him, "Focus Mab!" he shouted, his face a few inches away as he moved by, pores and beads of sweat visible, "Focus on the battle at hand" and then he was gone as soon as he came. She blinked and concentrated; two tall yellow skinned things, looking like hairless horses, crept towards her, weapons that resembled teeth pullers in hand, and the man she had been fighting against almost absentmindedly, made a right hook to her chin, while a small squad of three Vulkars sprinted her way, beginning to throw grenades. She withdrew her gun, and pulled two black assault rifles out of her back holster, where they crossed between her shoulders, the stocks sticking above, and began spinning them around in her hands, holding down on the triggers so two thin lines of light moved around her, slicing through flesh. She continued twirling them like batons, manipulating the dial on the stock so they didn't project too far (Laser fire went on for extreme lengths- and some adjustment was needed so it wouldn't pierce the intended victim and and continue on hurting some else. {although occasionally this was taken advantage of; Carth saw an opening where five people were lined up behind each other, all around the same height, and shot them all through the head} Either firers made sure there was nothing vulnerable behind and it wouldn't bounce- or they modulated the range by a vague guess to a certain amount of sizes and modes prior to actually firing, or while shooting as soon they hit their target had a computer disable the trigger (it moved much too fast; the speed of light, to do it visually). One could also use scopes and sniper rifles to calculate the distance out before hand- but to simply pull the trigger would have the laser make it to its full range instantaneously -across the entire room basically). Those around her fell to the ground, sliding apart into separate pieces, chunks dropping off as they were neatly dissected.

She shuffled to the side, and pointed both rifles in the west direction- when she was scanning the area, somehow she had picked up on (she didn't know how, it wasn't obvious at all) that the whole left shelf was all enemies, congregated together for safety- an observation that was lost in the chaos. She held down the triggers, making solid steady streams of crimson light, and kept them still, people not expecting someone of taking the risk to keep an unwavering fire, and so running into them as they tried to charge at enemies, not even looking for such a danger, like unsuspecting victims of sharp metal wires hidden in plain sight. Normally combatants only fired in quick bursts; holding a trigger down was considered dangerous and foolhardy, inconsiderate of life, a sudden jerk or twitch could kill an ally, a spasm drag the laser across the field, a miscalculation or sudden loss of control send it in an unwanted direction. Most preferred the safer route instead of projecting a stabile unbroken beam.

Mab was regulating her length- no matter how long she held onto the triggers, it wouldn't go any further-although it was quite extended enough; she projected two lengthy rays, guns butted into each shoulder, at head level. Since the part she was aiming at was rather isolated, and she was relatively safe where she was standing- having wandered away during the recent fight (once again how she knew that where she stood would be ignored and uncrowded was a mystery; the words that occurred to her were eddy and gap and whirl, which didn't make sense at anything but a visceral level) she decided to take the risk and began moving the lasers slowly, killing anyone in their path.

People crumpled and collapsed- their comrades nearby not noticing anything until they saw the red light inches away and it cut into their skin. Laser fire bounced and refracted off those with shields, hitting those that didn't. Whenever Mab was hassled by an attacker, running at her side, someone part of the larger fight, targeting her randomly, not one of the individuals getting culled in the further crowd, she would briefly let go of a trigger, swing one gun in their direction, while keeping the other one going, and then hold it down, pointing at an angle, so the long beam would pierce their crotch or stomach, and stab the ground, harmless. Finally, the Vulkars saw the wave of death, rippling in one direction, and began reforming their group structure and activating their defenses, but by then it was too late; Mab's allies had noticed this, and taken advantage of it, and now a large group was firing into the crowd, their laser fire moving just like hers, like lethal searchlights scanning for a target, and moving back and forth tenaciously to find them. The Vulkars, the only large group of opposition remaining, rolled under these lines and jumped over, dodging and bending, torso's stretching backwards, dropping to the ground and getting running starts, rolling and contorting, pulling limbs or heads back in avoidance just in time, but they all started failing one by one as the crosses and intersections got more and more complex; intricate webs impossible to escape at their worse; the rest fell to their kneels, curled up in a light shield beginning for mercy, surrendering, or ran screaming, hopping and weaving, to leap off the side, risking broken bones and worse for safety.

Mab switched her range to medium, and began strutting down towards one of the few scattered conflicts remaining. Halfway there (a man ran at her; she ducked and flipped him over her shoulder, shooting him with a rifle pointing backwards) she saw Revan taking the same pathway, stomping forward wrathfully. She checked again; the cluster had fled their separate ways, and all that was left was Brejik, stumbling backwards, looking frightened.

"I believe you have something of mine", said Revan awfully, holding out a hand.

Brejik swiftly drew his gun, firing it- at the same time Revan's lightsaber flew out of his pocket, spinning- he caught it and threw his arm into a powerful circle, igniting it on the way through. In its arch, when it was swinging past his legs upwards, it batted the bolt of laser back towards Brejik- hitting him in the throat, ripping it open. He collapsed to the ground gurglingly.

Revan then said distractively, "WW-33" not even looking in its direction or trying to find the droid, simply staring ahead quietly and saying it's name; an imperious manner. The droid was walking backwards, surrounded by a crowd of ten Vulkars, shooting hysterically, stabbing at it with swords, sticking them in its joints and then pushing down, trying to use them as leverage and pries, and attempting to attach mines and sticky ion grenades to it. WW-33 moved like a closed in animal, striking whenever he got the chance, lashing out at whoever was near- he would shove his Gatling cannons right on them, hitting and searing them, punching them with the weapons, nothing but the air right around the tips glowing- the body part completely obliterated, leaving a hole (or a missing head); one could see the shining barrels through the other side for a millisecond, before everything was burned away. They all were quickly defeated, until one remained, walking away slowly, arms in the air, realizing how futile the fight was. WW-33 paused, considering, and then fired at rocket at him at point blank range. The rocket hit in the stomach, lifting his body up, and carried him off into the air.

"He was surrendering" Revan said dolefully, busy eyebrows troubled.

"Redeeming Decision: Very well Master, I won't detonate the rocket from afar. How does that sound?"

"The fall will just kill him then."

"Statement: No, no, no you fleshtubes are remarkably squishy."

Revan followed the the arc through the sky, without comment, expressionless, and then tracked its downward trajectory, as it slammed into the roof of a building. At the loud thud he flinched slightly and turned to WW-33, his long face mournful. Mab could swear there was something humorous about the whole thing, that he meant it ironically; a small uncertain smile played around her lips.

Revan continued staring at his droid, eyebrow raised blandly, tiredly, then brook his gaze suddenly, bobbling his head, refocusing, shaking himself. "Anyways-" He gestured at WM-33, seemingly readying himself for some task. "I'll need Armament 112. Quickly now. I don't know how much longer I can-" He caught sight of Mab, briefly looking at her out of the corner of his eye, and paused, "Just get me the gun." A slot opened up on the droid's back, and out of it launched a small pistol. Revan's hand abruptly snapped up; and he caught it by the barrel unflinchingly, a loud slapping sound at impact, and reversed it in his grip. It was plastic, a white opaque material, and through the side one could see it was filled with darts, a line of them. He began walking through the dying battleground, and systemically firing at those lying on the ground- WW-33 left him and did relatively the same thing- helping the survivors clean up; although more violently. She paused for a moment, getting left behind, and then quickly ran to him, checking up.

"What are you doing?"

He did not look up at her, preoccupied. "There is a toxin within these darts that will leave the victims in a daze, unable to talk and answer any questions coherently, for around a week and a half. They cannot repeat what they have seen here today, or previously. Of course, it can be removed, and there are antidotes and cures, but I don't think any will be wasted on these people...

...That means we have a week and a half before it is possible for one of them to sell us out."

They continued walking side by side in the theater of combat, corpses scattered everywhere, smoke rising, sword and pikes impaled and standing straight up in the haze, the murkiness of death obscuring much of their view.

"Can't someone sense you already? The Sith? I mean, you used Force Powers, right?"

"No more than the average Conduit is capable of- the four or five Jedi stationed on this planet will congregate here, to see what has happened. They know there is a possibility I might be on this planet- to cover it up, they will say this was caused by their actions, in a mission to take out the swoop gangs once and for all. In this way, this event will not give definite proof one way or another of my location. Their passive energy given off merely by coming here combined, investigating and showing themselves, will be more than enough to match the amount of strength I used."

"There's Jedi here?! Why can't they help us?"

"I am shielding my presence. I am shielding my presence from all trained Force Users. I cannot simply pick or choose who to hide from- unless I knew definitely who was seeking me- then I could interfere with their minds specifically. But this is a general technique. For now, the cloak must cover me from all. Besides, The Jedi know not to seek me out- that could lead others to me. They are not as skilled as I am. Of course they are being followed. There is also the possibility that if we all gathered together, in such a group, merely by the addition of my presence, the Exile would be enticed to come, even if she wasn't sure I was part of it. They will however, try to provide as much support as possible- which will mainly be given merely by the fact that they are on this planet. A use of The Force doesn't mean that I am automatically here. That is due them. They are serving their purpose. It will enough."

She scrunched her face up thoughtfully, a common habit of hers. When she looked up, Revan was staring at her, slightly off put and surprised. They made eye contact briefly, and she felt a deepening, before he tore his gaze away, as if it hurt, and stalked of, too busy to keep pace with her. She still continued trailing him and just when she met up evenly with him again, they ran into Carth and Mission, Carth's face cut badly, blood running into his bangs, oozing out of the side of his head, holding his side- and Mission badly bruised and dirty.

"You're lucky I found you when I did. Both sides were shooting at you! Why didn't you hide sooner?"

"I just wanted to help..." she said, looking down and then peeking at Revan. "Sorry. I know you told me-

"No it's my fault. The original plan was for me to break free and then have you stick by my side. I could protect you then. But I had to go leave and rescue Mab- putting you in a-"

"... Rescue me?" she said, forgetting her skittishness around him, "Listen, thanks for your help and everything-"

"I am not saying you didn't contribute. Carth and you both were invaluable -"

"Yeah, ok, I don't know about you, but soldiers don't call it rescuing. It sounds like you're lording it over me. Just say I owe you one, ok, that's how the whole system works, it's a bunch of favors. I'll pay you back."

"Heavy Sarcasm: Oh yes", WW-33 said, who had been listening in as it made its way over to them, stepping on bodies deliberately. "When master is in combat with three or four Sith Lords, shooting lightening at him, he'll make sure to redeem that favor. It will be very useful, in a tight position"

Revan scowled at the droid (or just at everything in general); Mab had a nearly identical expression on her face. "Fine maybe _he_ doesn't need my help- but I'll make the favors transferable, so he can give them to one of his servants, because I sure know they need them, at least." She reached up on WM's back, and deactivated a small disk, pulling it off, holding it up for all to see, smirking.

"I wouldn't mind getting one of her favors either. She'll damm useful in a pinch sir. Without her I don't know how far we would have gotten. "Carth piped up, sticking up for her. Revan nodded, andcontinued forward, shooting those that lay with precision and efficiency- "You all did excellent work"- but he didn't sound very enthusiastic- Mab now felt like she deserved a little more recognition , as if he was superior who refused to be impressed with her. She stared at Carth, shrugging, to give him a look sending him a message clearly saying, "typical emotionless Jedi", but the pilot did not meet her gaze, as he was looking in concern at Revan's slightly hunched back. It was then she realized, pulling herself away from her own ego that he was deeply sick and weakened- all his words faint and tinged with nausea.

Rebuking herself for not being more sensitive, she tried to extend her perception of him, somehow, working with it intuitively, to reach out and feel for him; immediately a wall greater than one she had before experienced fell, the link becoming faint, like they were at a distant- and he turned to her, in surprise, head jerking back, gaping with wide shocked eyes, the flesh around them stretched and white, his face lined with sickness, his whole demeanor startled. She went to the rear once again, confused, not knowing what had happened- Revan quickly turned to Mission, as to pretend nothing was wrong, nothing had happened, and said murmuring at first, barely forming coherent sounds, but then gathering strength, "Give WM the location of the place we planned on."

When she looked up, (tripping and stumbling over debris as her thoughts wandered) Revan, WW-33, and Mission (doting on his side) were standing above a fallen Muun; Revan steadied his arm, and shot it in the neck- then slowly lowered his gun, finished. Halfway through, he raised it again, gettinginto a taut shooting pose, every limb locked and extended, as a small group walked towards them.

"Sir," Carth said, trotting to the scene, "That's Gadon. He's been helping us."

'I am aware of that."

"Hello, Master Jedi. It is an honor" said Gadon, holding out his hands in benediction.

Revan was tense and held the weapon up for a little longer. "The question isn't whether he's a foe or not- it's whether the information is safe with him."

"Revan", Mab said cautiously, "wouldn't the Sith, if they found him, have the antidote?"

"Possibly. But at least this would stop him from speaking with others, spreading it, having more people find out", several of Gadon's man looked angrily around, "And might stall the Sith as they searched for the right chemical with him in their custody. As they plot for it, engage in robberies, do research; it could waste valuable time. You are right however- something else might have to be done."

At this Gadon's bodyguards all quickly raised their guns pointing at Revan- Gadon immediately shook his head. "Lower them. I will submit to whatever Revan's decision is. Lower your guns I said. That's an order."

Revan stroked his thick stubble. "You are a good man- I could remove some of the memories, but there is always a risk. I don't want to hurt you. "His voice became curter. "Go to your base. Put the whole thing in lockdown. Make sure everyone who knows anything is accounted for. You should be safe there. If it is assaulted, I believe your forces are sufficient to repulse any Dark Jedi. To hold out under siege. Besides, if anyone is going to be interrogated, it will be those who left here before we could get to them, the higher ups, the leaders, and are talking about it, sharing information with others, putting themselves in the open, making themselves a target- not people who don't mention anything... You should be safe, your man should be safe, and so should must of these thugs. It's the mob bosses who I'm really worried about... I don't have any longer to speak- I'm sorry. We have to be leaving- I thank you for all your help." He nodded to Carth and Mab, and then turned. "Wait," said Gadon, finally noticing someone else with them, "That girl there is not a friend of yours. She's a Black Vulker, and she's wanted for many crimes. She's broken into our property and stolen time and time again.

"She has been helping me-"

"She's a wanted criminal"

"Release her into my custody. You don't have to worry about her any longer"

As they began walking away, Mission, agitated, faced them and said shamefully, "Look Gadon", confessional, remorseful.

He was surprised that she addressed him so familiarly.

"I don't know if you remember me or not, but I use to hang out with your guys as a kid and... well I didn't want to do all those things. I hated the Vulkers and their jerks. It's just when my brother left, and I had no one else around to help me, well besides a friend who went away, I had to- the Vulkers were richer and more powerful then you. I had to do it for my survival. They made to many good offers!"

After apologizing, she paused for a second, glanced back at the group waiting for her, then said to Gadon, with extreme, almost exaggerated earnestness, enunciating every word, her face (a light indigo, blushes of faint red on the tip of a perky button nose, her cheeks and around her eyes; dark inky tattoos curling of their corners and edges like extra lashes, delicate and graceful in their strokes; hieroglyphs) overtly dramatic and expressive, like he wasn't believing her, "I gotta go, but I really! am! sorry!" She then ran back into the distance, femininely, looking over her shoulder occasionally. Gadon appeared bemused, rubbing his chin, "It was one thing to learn that the Hacker of Dephicrasaniss was a 15 year old girl, another thing entirely to see she has a conscience."

* * *

The fence of the roof now within sight, Carth gazed up at WM-33 in awe and said, "So this is the monster that caused all that destruction."

"Indeed. After I rode it to planetside, we hit a building, and I got knocked off, with WM spinning out of control and crashing. Then he tried to find me, relentlessly destroying everything in his path." He sighed. "I'm guessing at the start of the rampage you meet your little friend, at some point."

"Statement: When I landed master, I was momentarily incapacitated, and a group of fleshtubes known as The Exchange captured me, seeking to take of advantage of my military grade technology. The shame master, the shame! Apparently they thought to hack my systems with nothing more than a T3 line droid. Skilled it was, but using the software you built in me just in case for such events, I reversed the attack- driving it a little- "

"Eccentric", ventured Carth.

"Approbation: Exactly, red haired fleshtube. It suddenly insisted it join me on my mission, most likely simply to wreck mischief. I tried removing it master, but it was locked onto my shoulder chassis, which unfortunately, does not have any weapons connected to it, a fault I have reminded you of over and over again."

"Well if something is really that annoying, there's always a way of getting rid of it. Self destruct.", said Carth jokingly.

"doot dot dereeeeet'", whimpered T3 softly.

"Not that you are, I'm sure."

"dooot reeeeet!"

Mab looked at the tiny droid in wild delight-one would half expect her to shout _"can we keep it!",_ and nudged Mission Vao, who had been biting her fingers preoccupied. Mission glanced up and smiled. "It's adorable!" she exclaimed. "I love feisty little droids all excited about their jobs- the only robots I ever saw around the base where either old clankers, wobbling around, pieces hanging off or_...combat droids_." she said, looking up at WM-33 in distaste.

"Well finding this T3 droid is pretty fortunate of us, I have to say- I think we should take it with us, at least until we get off this planet- which isn't going to be that easy, now that the Republic Fleet has left. Such a guy could come in handy, if we have to splice a system, or something- I hope it wasn't damaged too badly, by WM reversing the the attack software wise-"

"Clarifying Interjection: I didn't just counter-hack it; I also threw it across the room against the wall."

"Dooooooooooooooooooot."

"Despite all that, its sounds fine", Mab said, leaning down near T3. "Right you're all good? Ready to be a help?"

"Doot reee Doot!", T3 whistled excitedly and then lurched back and forth on its treads, jerking and halting, reversing and going ahead quickly, switching behind the two, utensils, grips, spikes, sensors, manipulators all popping out of its sides at once, like a a crammed Swiss army knife suddenly opening up, holograms, projections, and dancing lights glowing on top of it, images flickering and overlapping each other, changing swiftly to different pictures and diagrams, the visions melding together into one colorful jumble, constantly altering.

They all chuckled- Carth patted it on its head and said, "Not all at once, T3. But you're quite a skilled little guy, that's for sure-"

"We're going to head down that street" Revan said, glancing back at them, oblivious to their laughter, and unaffected by it, " WM will get us there- all of you, climb onto his back." They stood by the fence, the highway a small gap away- WM walked up to it and stomped a section down, pushing it and creating a small trampled curve to walk over. Revan jumped on the droid's mount, and held two hands out- Carth and Mission grabbed them, and he lifted them both up at the same time, curling his biceps. T3-M4 rolled onto one leg, magnetically attached itself to it, and scootered upwards, casually, as if he and the juggernaut were the best of buddies- WM-33 lifted it limb off the ground and begin shaking it, hopping on the other, blundering to the side, trying to lose the tiny utility robot as it it was a pest- "Leave him." growled Revan. At the same time, Mab climbed up the opposite appendage, grabbing onto holds, scampering and swinging her body, and pulled herself up, scaling until she could reach one of the only plastic bars left over to hold onto, peeking out of the side of the pilot niche- Carth and Mission were using the rest, and she couldn't even fit in with them.

"Hold on", uttered Revan, and then WM ran forward, and flung itself over the edge, flailing through the air towards the highway. Just as it was beginning to descend, it reached the large road, coming at it so by the time it was there it was already underneath, it's arms level with the brink, and grabbed onto it with one hand, using its momentum to swing itself forward, going even farther, it's body now mostly horizontal as it flew. It fell into a small cobblestone courtyard (the loosely set pieces launching into the air at its impact) beyond tiny, buildings, quaint crumpling brick boxes.

They dismounted; they were in a dead end, a cul-de-sac of sorts, a small round yard encircled on all sides by houses except for a miniscule gap, a crevice that connected to a long, thin street, crowded with shops on both looming sides- a merchants canyon- the rocky walls made of stacked businesses; ladders led upwards, to different establishments, and some, that traversed the entire height, not simply going from one door to another above, moved in sockets, rolling back and forth; like a massive library with hard to reach books, where the collection was not simply ancient manuscripts, lost in the sheer multiple, but hard to find merchandise, just as rare and legendary, and ledges went wherever was desired, across storefronts, like an intricate carved cliff wall, (where the customer with their backs against the dusty masonry didn't hear harsh wind and falling stones dropping forever, or just their own heartbeat, beating with the fear of heights, but a different sound, a living noise that still combined together to form approximately the same thing; merchants shouting and heckling those low down, smalls dots, whistling to gain attention and screaming offers so they would look up into the sky, stereos and speakers blasting and hissing into the distance, and whispering heard in their own ear, as they squeezed on past, soft sudden offers, out of nothing, unexpected, intimately close, the sellers seeing their chance to persuade, sometimes a a quiet, "hey you" frightening the travelers so much they hop and drop to a lesser level) while a simple fall onto one of the many safe awnings would direct the buyers lower down- the quickest form of transport, when one needed to get below swiftly, or was impatient, although of course, not all these canopies were actually what they seemed, and connected to both poles to make a taut bouncy surfaces, landing spots, something unfortunately, the trusting leapers hit nothing but thin cloths that gave away to holes/ripped and wound around them as they continued their freefall, now wrapped and spinning in a sheet, or cloth wavering in the wind, undulating, the whole neighborhood filled with many of these beautiful decorations, rolling and snapping, and covering large stretches, large flags and signs deceptively appearing to be something they were not- but there were so many shops with so many fabric marquees, of all colors and sizes, scattered about, that one missed connection rarely spelled death- although the entire street was filled with awnings missing their centers, great torn gaps in the middle, caused when some risk taking younger person misjudged their jump. There were plenty of embarrassing stories associated with these tears and plenty of bruised heads; frequently jumps were made aiming at non regulatory spots, and the poor souls plummeted through layer and layer until finally their descent reached a non deadly speed, leaving them with nothing but a fool's mark- or a large debt as they crashed into a delicate stall.

'We'll head down this street; there's a sewer access nearby- it should serve as a good base. WM meet us there, take a more indirect route."

"Obedient Response: Certainly Master."

The droid shuffled to the side quickly, smashing through the front of a house, then they heard rumbling as it stepped somewhere else, ramming to its destination - Revan called after, "Try to get there making the least amount of holes as possible" and then sighed, irritated, rubbing his hand against his face roughly.

They walked in the narrow channel; overhead, in the skinny strip of sky, people on hang gliders flitted back and forth, the filament dotted as with birds, some with thin boards connected to each arm, that as they flapped their limbs, allowed them to stay afloat on the air currents, all part of an elaborate full body suit with multiple supports and tendons, working together and controlled by twitches and movements, each muscle straining and pulling and playing it's part; while others had simple primitive triangles attached to their harnesses- a few even soared with actual wings, metallic deadly looking feathers moving, extending out, and contracting; furling together, the light of their strange engines glinting off sharp blades. People with jetpacks spotted the space above- a courier with a helmet and a dark visor slowly landed near them, his two engines, small disks where fire exploded out of, attached to stalks, curved extensions, coming from his backpack, each circular rocket resting underneath a palm, folded back in as his booted feet touched down. Fliers and pictures were dropped from above, and they flew into the people's faces- one billowed through the air and stuck to Revan's hand, the pieces of paper floating everywhere, slowly parachuting down, lazy and swooping, or blown off the ground by sudden gusts- store clerks shouted into megaphones and intercoms and flashed large lights at certain people, and projected holos on the street or the side of lower buildings, aiming gigantic image boxes like turrets, trying to draw into potential patrons, and diminutive many limbed droids clambered down the sides, pictures glowing on their bellies of objects and advertisements. Tiny trinkets and souvenirs bounced over their heads on strings, yanked up tantalizingly at the slightest sign of interest as sellers tried to intrigue prospective buyers, like fishermen, their wares on lines- a tiara, shining with nanodiamonds dangled and swung near Mission's head; she pretended to ignore it for a moment, obviously in her ploy, conspicuously looking the other way and humming and then snatched at it suddenly, lunging, face greedy and coveting ; it was pulled up into the air at once, jerking violently, and a fat bellied xenomorph, holding onto the wooden slightly bending rod, laughed uproariously, a deep belly guffaw, hand on stomach, and stuck a slimy gigantic tongue out in the process, spittle flying from it- the scheme was to "catch" small children, so they would see something that they wanted, and annoy and bother their parents until they bought it- perhaps the vendor had thought they were a family shopping and Mission part of it, but they had no time, even if she wanted it, to take part in such an interaction- they strode forward purposely, on an errand and not allowing any part of the very distracting environment to grab their attention. Still Revan did need something, and when one seller was not looking, of a large hooked staff, bumpy and knobbly, with many protrusions, forming one of the supports of the stall, he pulled off a ragged brown cloud, looking like it was made out of burlap, tough and frayed at the edges, with a thick edged scratchy hood; heavy and drooping, and enveloped himself in it, suddenly shadowed, now in his familiar state of obscurity and secrecy.

Taglines continued blasting and roaring-, "Real fruit! A juicy crabblenspap! Not bioengineered! Plucked off a tree, if you can believe it. One of the only five in this galaxy, I swear, that wasn't grown in a plant! You know how valuable this is, Nookedees!

"Blasters! Blasters! Phyglion gas! You'll blow a hole right through them!

"Mirror armor, you'll be a walking-"

"-a full entertainment system- Sphere connection, full 3-D illusionscape, surround vision, earjacks-"

"We do cranial sockets! We do cranium sockets for VR! Jack in today!"

"Lygrion tiger flesh!

"A pet rascool!

"Stickboots and gluegloves! Walk up the sides of buildings! Get from A to B hanging upside down!"

"A folding cube! Not a legend! Military grade- put one in your house, it's a mansion inside. Bigger on the interior then the exterior! Fucking amazing! Never have to be cramped again!

"Secure com line, stolen codes from the Dead Space Reapers! Use their systems!"

"Full noblemen regalia. Human robes, trimmed in a beautiful red and gold. You'll look just them!"

"Ever screw in zero gravity, boys?"- came drifting by- Mab turned to Carth snickering- "They probably only have the whores do it in that environment, because they're too fat to move otherwise... heheh"

"Ha, yeah so even if they really let themselves go-"

"They could be Hutts. Girl Hutts with long luxurious eyelashes." They both laughed at the mental image, but were cut short when out of a skinny curtained booth (velvet drapes, parted near the ground, where one could see a small metallic rectangle; it was a platform or pedestal of sorts, a low tech looking device, and the hint of someone, a skinny man, floating above it, twisting in the air as if underwater, strands of another's long hair drifting nearby) burst a prostitute, missing a few of her teeth ,thrusting her thong clad crotch lewdly at Carth, "Ever seen boobies in ZeeGee,_ Lancer_? Huh, ever fuck spaceside? They don't allow that on military ships, do they? Never turn it off for some fun. Well try it here, Lancey-boy. "

Carth shook his head and they quickly hurried on by, "How did she know I was a soldier, Mab?", he said, turning to her worried.

"It's just the way you walk. You have a straight back, it's your posture." He nodded and then pulled his hat down, and shoved his hands into his pockets even further, slumping, looking at her for her opinion. She waved her hand dismissively and said, "You know, do you really think we should drag Mission through this type of sketchy environment? Shouldn't we stop her from being exposed to this stuff too young?"

Mab was no prude but when it came to children, she felt protective, wanted to keep them insolated, away from harm, and innocent.

"Well" Carth begin hesitantly, "I don't really know if that's necessary-", at the same time, they both automatically glanced back, to see were Mission was- the teenager was standing and talking to another prostitute, a tall pretty blond women, wearing sequined undergarments- "Well, I hope it works out for you", they overhead, and then she started to run back to them.

"See, my point exactly- she's probably seen more then all of us put together."

As Mission weaved towards them, she carelessly bumped into someone in the flowing crowd, who spun away from the impact- he paused for a second to regather himself and then noticed a tattoo on her uncovered shoulder peeking out of her sleeveless jacket and retreated in fright. Mission then slowly, less enthusiastically went up to them, downcast again.

"I hate these tattoos. I hate these things- anything that shows I'm a Vulker."

Revan's head turned her way, and he threw part of his cloak over her shoulder, lifting it up by one of the folds and letting the long, floppy material drape over it, dropping it, so it hung down her side, and briefly reached to pull her in for a hug, hesitated, and then faltered. "That's the thing Mission- all of this is so provincial, so unimportant. Once you leave this planet, none of it, _none of it_ will matter. Do you think anyone out in space will now the meaning of that snarling beast on your arm? Know it or care? It's a new start. This is all so...small."

Mab looked at Revan surprised; he sounded consoling, his tones still rough, but wise and comforting- was this the side he showed when Mission and him were alone for those few days; as he had chipped away at her defensives and tried to persuade her?

"Exactly. Mission", Carth said, "you know that old adage, the stereotype, "The entire Republic Fleet is a bunch of criminals."? Well it's true. But not in the way you think. They're not bandits, bad people looking to create some sort of pirate Armanda or escape justice- It's just that planets have these silly ridiculous rules, sometimes, countries and nations, idiosyncratic and what is a law on one isn't even thought of on the other- I mean the Rights Symposium tries to standardize it but- what I'm trying to say is your reputation or your records don't matter. It's not important. There are all these petty lines drawn, and boundaries, and factions, and everyone thinks it's of deadly importance; a struggle of life and death, for survival, the most significant thing in the galaxy, but it's not. From the long view it's so ridiculous and small. Heck, I'm sure on some worlds I'd be arrested for my name beginning with a C. Some groups and gangs on my planet still want my head, I'd guess, for things that happened years ago, and are dumb, just stupid. In some religions I'm a sinner, sure. But you got to look beyond that. You got to escape. Don't let it hurt you. That tattoo says you're a Vulker. What is a Vulker huh? It's just another little act. Just a play. A joke practically. There are thousands of these groups all over the galaxy and they amount to nothing, and you won't get dammed for being one, no matter how terrible they pretend they are. "

"Ok, I get you", Mission said, quietly, "but it's not like that. Some of the stuff I did really was bad... it wasn't just a stupid custom I broke or some dumb conflict I got involved with, it wasn't", she struggled for words, not knowing the correct one to say or finding an appropriate substitute.

"Relative", said Mab softly, her eyes beginning to get a faraway look; she stared at her feet thoughtfully, another of her pondering quirks, with her gaze distant, yet she still listened; in fact her nebulousness showed she truly was intent and focused, in a indirect manner; this is how she demonstrated it.

"Yeah, relative. They weren't relative things, they really were horrible. Some of the stuff I did was wicked and I knew it. I hurt people by my actions and let people get hurt. I don't know why you guys are letting me hang with you. I don't know why _you're_ letting me hang with you Revan" she said, the last part shy, rubbing her balled up fist against her eye.

"I've done terrible things too", Mab suddenly volunteered, not quite knowing where she was coming from or what she was going to say; besides that she did not know how to handle the situation correctly, the last few days of mental turmoil had rendered her rather unconfident, especially in giving advice. When she spoke up, Revan's hooded face jerked toward her, listening intently. Noticing all eyes on her, and surprised by her mouth running before her mind, she faltered, and became less sure, the energy of the first sentence draining. "I think...?" she added unsurely, trailing off, fading.

There was slightly awkward pause, and Revan finished waiting for her to continue, turning back to Mission. "In my eyes you have already redeemed yourself-" (once again, Mab thought she felt his gaze lingering on her) "but of course that is not the point. The point is you have to feel that way. Don't go to escape others judgments then, leave the planet to find a different environment. A new start where it's easier to be good. A fresh beginning can motivate and inspire you. "

"That's solid logic" added Mab , trying to recover. "Because deep down you always know who you are- so even if they forget or you are on a whole other world, it will still hurt you. Deep down you remember all your wrongs. So the only way to not fail and feel good about yourself again, the only successful path, is to actually become a better person. That's the right reason to leave. It's helpful to be a stranger- people's misconceptions and prejudices won't hold you back, but it's only an advantage, not the reason. And then, when you come back here, and they run in fear from your tattoo, it wouldn't hurt you because you know you don't deserve it and you wouldn't be ashamed anymore, regardless of where you go."

"I wish everyone had that opportunity-" Revan said, sounding as distant as her. "...to confront their past head on... but sometimes people are ignorant of the evils they have done. Mission is fortunate in a way- she realizes, she has insight. Perhaps we have pushing too hard in the opposite direction. Perhaps you should be grateful for your guilt... It's the first step in the right direction. After all there are worst things- no...self-knowledge at all."

"You'll be fine, kid" Carth said, wrapping it up, the final word, summarily. "I've only known you for an hour or so and I can already tell you're good stuff", patting her on the shoulder lightly. "Revan" he asked, pointing forward, "is that where we're supposed to be heading, up there?"

"Yes". They reached the askew manhole, a few inches off kilter, only a little disturbed, and Revan nudged it with his bare foot, (broken and worn, the toes twisted, stubbed, and bruised, the nails swelling, filling with blood, changing colors, jagged and ripped, some with thick cracks, the bottom ripped and torn, covered with cuts and abrasions) moving it aside completely.

"We'll drop down in here and then go a couple meters. Follow me."

* * *

They walked in the sewer, a dark, dank tunnel, hugging the walls to avoid the river, then took a right, a left, crossed a thin plank, went past a twisted piece of metal still half hanging off the walls, that once was likely some kind of round bar gate, a swinging entryway, with a huge keyhole near the edge - traveled under a gaping hole, pieces of stone still falling, and then waded briefly, steeply, downriver, almost falling forward, like slipping down a slick hill, the floor of this passage both wet and slimy, keeping their balance and avoiding tumbling from going too fast on the slope covered in thick squishy moss- trash, the small strange bodies of drowned animals, and raw waste rushing by past them, until they reached the bottom of the channel, which ended in a small lake- nearby, out of the water, and above it, overlooking the stagnant pool an intricate archway lead to one of the many branching pathways.

Climbing out, they went through the entrance, marked with symbols and runes thrown into relief by their lights, into twisting corridors, alongside a small stream that filled a manmade channel, skinny, yet deep, thin as a cut down the middle of the maze, slowly widening, but taking up the same area ratio as the originally claustrophobic walls grew as well. They found and stopped at a secluded dead-end, a chamber. At one end, taking it up entirely, was a waterfall, coming from some shaft overhang, and it spilled out, filling the beginning of the furrow that stared there, shallow and huge. The room was large enough however, that there was plenty of space of both sides- although WM-33 , who was there before them, was cramped and awkwardly positioned, part of his body resting in the stream, water bubbling over his feet.

"WM- how dirty is this? Can I use it?", asked Revan- it seemed clear and clean, although its foam was a dirty speckled gray that continued to float on top long after it should have dissipated.

WM-33 paused for a moment, and then said, "Informative Statement: It is 87 percent contaminated. It can be purified. Forcing a Rodian to drink it would cause its ears to wilt. Spraying a Vunduel could give it a skin rash... 1/4 of the time", it continued, all in the same sentence, as if it was completely normal, "Submersing an Abyssin in it might in rare cases make its outer hide loose and putty like, if the components I have detected are completely accurate, no room for error. "

Mab whispered incredulously, "How does he know that?!"

"Do so then", and WM lifted his arm- the Gatling cannon revolving to the underside, and getting pulled further back, and the top of the limb folding open like a box, into two pieces that pulled aside, creating a gap, as the bottom slide into a slot as well, revealing some sort of strainer. WM stuck the arm directly under the beginning of the waterfall and did the same with the other arm a few seconds later, making a curtain, a pouring sheet of safe water.

Revan began to walk into it; Carth and Mab stared at each other. "Sir", The Jedi Master halted, "do you think we can join you- since landing we haven't showered either."

"I don't see why not"

"Cautionary Observation: The female only wants to shower with you to see you naked. The male probably is waiting for you to let down your guard so he can stab you in the ribs, as being nude is a statically unsafe time for fleshtubes. Shall I'll blind her with a flash grenade to protect your modesty, and exterminate the pilot with a manner of my choosing?"

"Oh yeah" Mab retorted, laughing and outraged at the same time, "I'm the one who wants to see him naked. You're the creeper, licking his boots and constantly watching him."

WM-33 addressed Revan instead, never turning her way, dismissing her, "Master the female is attempting to join our banter. I now think the readied flash grenade needs to be employed in her mouth, unless some other way of removing her tongue is discovered."

Revan threw his arm behind his head, snapping his fingers, "At the moment you are a gloried showerhead. I do not need or desire your commentary."

"Statement: Who would you like me to kill master?"

"What?" he said bewildered, lost and momentarily nonplussed, "You're serving as a- how could you kill someone? What are you talking about?"

"Scalding hot water master. So again, whose face would you like me to burn off?"

A muscle twitched in Revan's cheek, and he smiled slightly- Mab suddenly understood the relationship between the two- understood it very well; it wasn't just a humorously psychotic droid and his owner, his buyer; she was positive Revan created him and he served a vital purpose, his banter uplifting the man's spirits even in the worst of situations, his jokes as grim and disturbing as the problems and conflicts they found themselves in; in war, what other comedy could be found besides gallows and insane exaggerated bloodlust; and since most mastered the first after a while under pressure, and the second was impossible and unsustainable in normal minds; the droid was programmed with that type of personality, to provide a fresh, unique perspective, a different side of the contrasting duo, something no one else could offer.

Revan reached inside WM- whose entire back was now opening up like a closet as he crouched down slightly, and threw them both two round pieces of soap, surrounded by a thin metal covering, a loose frame mostly made up of thin wires and supports, a few spots with larger wider areas of bendable steel. He himself went in without one, anxiously yearning for the purifying shower, and when the first rush splashed him, simply stood under for a moment, eyes closed peacefully, his thick, scruffy hair, sticking up in every direction, messy and tangled, so unlike the pictures of him in press conferences neat and combed, now slicking down over his face, long, and shaggy like a wet dogs, covering his eyes. Then he fell to his knees, and pulled off his chest the remaining strands and scraps of the straightjacket, using both hands and tearing, ripping it open and clawing it away (it was a ragged mess, remaining on barely, already torn down the middle, burnt, loose belts and straps hanging, the sleeves long and mostly destroy). Cupping his hands he splashed large amounts of water at his upturned face, frantically, continuously, over and over again, gulping it down and shaking his head wildly.

Carth and Mab entered a little later, pulling of their cloths and leaving them in a messy pile near the edge- Mab was ready to sigh in pleasure even though she wasn't expecting anything luxurious, but the water was too cold and crisp even for that, even for a little enjoyment, to illicit a moan from someone who hadn't bathed in days- instead it was all business and and they quickly lathered up, small rollers on the disks rotating and scrubbing as they were brought across their bodies, occasionally revolving in sockets by themselves, quicker than usual or in the opposite direction. She vigorously washed her belly, arms, and shoulders, and then when she reached the neck, indented part of the disk; it rolled down her back, rolled up again ,and then begin moving around in circles energetically, the tiny cleaning droid buzzing and wrooming while Mab held her hair up with one hand, molding it. As it was vibrating and foaming, spraying soap on her lower back, Mab turned to Mission, "Are you going to come in? You have a little blood on your arm, I don't know if you noticed or not."

"Water is for drinking, not washing..." she said, looking at them strangely.

Mab heard a retching sound and begin walking through the water, trying to see what was happening. Carth was closer, as he was in the middle of the three, and she paused at his side- Revan had fallen further forward, onto his hands and knees, (he had been shaking and trembling seconds before) throwing up and groaning. Mab made a move to get nearer- Revan held out one hand, a thin strand of salvia and vomit connected to it all the way from his mouth, and said, "Don't. Don't come any closer." He stayed in this position, moaning softly, occasionally collapsing completely flat before pushing himself up out of the pool with weak, trembling arms. A small scrubbing droid traveled his way, a trail of suds behind it, and slid up his arm, and onto his back. Another one soon joined it, and he eventually stood up, arms extended out, in the cross position, staring blankly ahead, disconnected, as the two devices went in circles on his chest. After a few moments, he grabbed both of them off, and deactivated them, throwing them to the ground, and then walked out.

Out of the large locker that had revealed itself on WM's back, filled with shelves and hooks and indents where things could be attached to the walls, he grabbed a thin towel ,and rubbed it against himself briefly, making his hair big and fluffy, before wrapping it around his waist. Both Carth and Mab stepped out to talk to him, Mab putting her arms around her breasts,(she had showered and changed plenty of times with males, all facilities in the Military {and the greater part of the Republic, as well} were unisex, the reasoning being that an individual who could not control themselves and demonstrate self-restraint, or focus on the task at hand due to a few sexual distractions, was not soldier material; so she was completely open with nudity, one could not avoid it on the massive living quarters of spaceships; especially since on their days off people were allowed to go dressed however they wanted, as guaranteed by the Rights Symposium) hugging herself tightly, because it was cold, or she told herself. The temperature however, could not explain the slight blush on her cheeks, or Revan's heavily lidded eyes, now completely closed.

"I'm going to sleep. I need rest. Any questions before I go? Anything you need to say?"

"I hate to ask but you wouldn't happen to have a razor would you? I just want to clean up all the way. One of those tiny droids have a blade or a laser in them?"

"No" said Revan abruptly, rudely, "No. I only have the essentials in there. Why don't you ask T3-M4?"

"doot!", T3 piped up, helpfully, and then projected a laser wildly, the beam heading randomly off in one direction, scoring the sides of the chamber.

"I think I'll pass" laughed Carth and looked back at Revan, who had moved away and reclined, using the towel as a blanket. He briefly lifted his head, propping it up. "I will sleep for five hours. And then meditate for three. Afterwards I will have to leave, briefly", and then he laid down supine, instantly going into a deep trance.

* * *

Mab and Carth sat close by, across from each other, Mab leaning up against a wall, and Carth, his extended feet touching hers, holding himself up with his arms at his side. Mission was near, curled up tightly on the ground like a cat, and WM-33 stood behind the waterfall, nothing seen through the cascading mist except for a hint of his glowing orange eyes, hovering. Mab snapped a rubber band between her fingers, stretching it out into various shapes and contortions, the other one loosely tied around a chunk of big hair, creating a huge messy ponytail going off the side of the top of her head.

"You know" she said languidly, as she brought up another topic randomly, out of the blue, in the slow meandering conversation, to pass time, "I've realized old grumpy over there", she jerked a thumb at Revan, who had, at some point, when they were not looking, shifted into a crossed, folded leg position, the towel draped over his shoulders like a shawl, "is actually a pretty funny guy."

"Well, yeah, his earlier speeches, when he was still on the Sphere everyday, where the stuff of their legend, filled with wit. You have to have a good-"

"No, I mean in person."

"And why would say that?"

"That WM-33 droid- he definitely designed it, I just know it."

"Huh, I never thought of that."

"Yeah, and what I'm thinking is, it seems like it's an asshole now, and weird that Revan would allow it to be so aggressive to us, but I'm sure that most of the time it doesn't have direct contact with anyone else beside him, so all these rude and bizarre comments are likely made about people behind their backs, no harm done, at a safe distant. This is Revan's only constant companion, he travels with it everywhere probably, so it needs a comedic personality to entertain him, and when they're by themselves, I bet Revan's plays along just as much, and is just as bad, if not worse."

"Well, you're definitely right about at least one thing: from what I've heard, they do always go on special top secret missions together, and once or twice he's lead the front lines with that thing. It's like he has his own personnel army. That's the problem with Republic resources; we have the skill but not the fire power, so WM complements Revan perfectly."

"Did you know about it before, Carth? I mean you seemed to have some idea."

"Well, I knew he had something- something had been attached to the bottom of the Ebon Hawk when he came on board. And I'd heard rumors and stuff- but no one really likes to talk about it, so that's why I just kind of kept it vague to you- Revan's scary when he's fighting, in the midst of true war, and with that thing, it's a slaughter. People don't like mentioning it. I had only an outline of it in my head, nothing concrete, so I I didn't want to tell you anything and have it be off-target later. I also guess I was just avoiding the topic too... "He paused and then spoke up, slow and reluctant, as if it was a confession, speaking of something that he found wrong and unnerving. "He doesn't... take... prisoners Mab, and the droid kills _everything._ That's what it was built for. Annihilation. I... I don't why this isn't like other wars, but he has completely disregarded every single rule and law."

"There's something wrong with The Exile's forces... Something... twisted... I don't think they want to conquer or control us. Maybe he's right in making a droid that can kill as many as possible. Maybe that's the only way.", she said, remembering back to the two assassins and The Disciple.

"Perhaps" he said neutrally, "but that part is over. Now we are mainly occupied with keeping The Exile's fleet away from any population centers. Some say the war really ended with the capture of Bastilla. I don't know... I think she'll still dangerous, The Exile. A cornered snake still has it venom- We have not removed her fangs just yet. Revan mostly likely believes the same thing- why haven't we attempted any direct offensive attacks otherwise?

"...How _does_ Revan fit into all of this?" she asked, her head in a questioning tilt. "I mean I understand, right now, he's the unofficial leader of most of the Military and the Representative of the Jedi Council- but before. During the Mandalorian Wars?"

"Well, after he stopped with all his orations and rallies, he kind of fell out of the spotlight, Vuncroy talking his place. No one knows why exactly, he decided against it, against the war, but the common belief is you know, The Jedi Council, their oracles, predicted this was going to happen, and warned against it, that the mysterious threat was this returning army, not existing yet, but the message and echoes of it coming back to the present. Whatever it was though, it effected to him. I recall the first public speech after he decided not to go; he seemed different, quieter, longer pauses, thought before speaking, carefully picking his words. He wasn't this carefree badboy, the rebel without a cause anymore, like some say he used to be-whatever he saw or they told him... it was a blow."

"Is it possible they threatened him or something? _Made_ him change his mind?"

"I don't think so. True, they say the Force can do terrible things to a mind. That it can wipe away your memories and destroy your very identity, but I don't think that's what happened. He was too powerful for them. No, I believe he just started listening, after they spoke of horrors that lay in wait. Still, I'm sure he didn't just sit around. He wouldn't, not even if he was reined in by the Council."

"Yeah, now that I think of it, I do remember my friends telling me he was seen at various points, on different planets helping with evacuations efforts, or relief. They were other stories of him doing more than just that, plotting and sneaking around too."

"Some say he even journeyed deep into the Outer Rim to attempt diplomacy with Mandalorians. Personally, in addition to all those things, I thank him for saving my life. I know he least did that. My life or my sanity I owe to him.

"Why...why do you say?"

"Where you around during the end of the war, when suddenly the Mandalorians just disappeared, almost all of them, with a good chunk of our fleet as well? Were you still with us? With us when..." he moved his hand absentmindedly, trying to grasp the correct phraseology, "things started to go bad."

"No, I was called back earlier, why?"

"After it was all over, in the beginning, people started trickling back to the Republic one by one. There was this weird lack of order, no chain of command anymore. We had suffered way too many looses for that. Some just walked away basically, going where ever they wanted, telling stories of the horrible shit we'd seen. It was all slowly breaking apart, but that seemed fine in way- it had served its purpose, and the whole thing was so unofficial anyways; the Jedi never meaning to be our generals forever, that it didn't seem that is was a bad thing. It _was _strange though, people going if they felt like it, the ships losing more and more, catching rides on freighters, or passing vessels, a vast Diaspora of veterans returning home to no parades or honors, no tradition or ceremony at all to it. Some say, even, The Exile was one of the first to return, riding on a private Comet, and she actually went before The Jedi Council, seeking judgment or advice. That's when it went wild. Crazy. Suddenly we were overwhelmed with news. Not entropy but in motion again. We heard stuff everyday-Vuncroy banished- or they to kill her! And her followers and every Jedi who came back would be locked up. Not seen as saviors, able to hold their heads high, but punished for that they did. Can you imagine, Mab?" he said, his voice recalling the intensity of the moment.

"All the people we had bonded with, all who had lead us, who had stuck by our side through thick and thin. The heroes of the Republic. There were small voices of reason of course, but they were getting drown out in the worry, and the growing indignation. This isn't what they deserved to get, how they should be repaid, some strange cult imprisoning them, because they broke their own obscure rules. And from there the revolutionary mood spread to all organizations and structures of the Republic.

"So a little form began appearing again. We had routines, just in case. Squads remade, plans reworked. We began to draw together. And that's when I noticed it. These dark powerful feelings sweeping over us, along with the radical ideas coming down the line. The whispered meetings and angry discussion. The tense waiting for something to happen. The synchronization of our rage, and the bringing together of our minds, being bonded into one. It was Bastila'sbattle mediation being used on us without our knowledge. Once I saw it it was easy to recognize. I had experienced it before of course. It had a savage seething undertone to it, but that too had slowly been growing even before the end, the anger becoming inherit. This time our enemy was the Republic. Gradually becoming our foe, as the days went by and the teachings became more extreme.

"So that's how Bastila was able to convert some many foots soldiers with no real stake in the ideologies." she said, exhaling sharply, nodding her head.

"Many, but not me. And not others like me, able to see what happening. I had to escape, after I had my epiphany, before they found I wasn't fully with them, (and they were starting to become more and more intolerant) or it sucked me in. But you didn't know who to talk to, who to trust. Plots developed. Then one of my commanders, a good friend of mine, came to me, and showed me a way out. I'm sure that was Revan's doing. Before this all even started, he created some kind of information network among the fleet, a bunch of spies and informers, just to keep an eye on things. It's probably wasn't their original function, but later they helped a lot of people. Sometimes even whole ships and squadrons were able to break away. Without them I think it would of been a full born civil war, I mean it was practically the entire Republic battalion, and they were landing on planets and occupying sections of space, and the local infrastructure there was beginning to meld with them, not knowing the danger. It would have been a lot more disorganized, and hard to tell which side was which. But because of the infiltrators, ferrying loyalists out, and making sure everyone knew what was going on, the lines were drawn, and at the start of the war you could tell who was who- it wasn't a mess-"

"Yeah, not a mess, just a massive horde." she said sardonically.

"The atrocity army... backed by the graveyard fleet." he answered in response, mulling the words over softly, naming the horde. "We still don't know where they got most of their ships.... Anyways, the final and most obvious reason, that Revan knew about his network, had organized it, saved my life in a way... when the main force finally arrived, Revan was promoted to a Jedi Master, as if the Council with his information, was giving him more authority to use for a crisis drawing near, was getting ready for them... for the darkness that was coming"

He said the last part face close, leaning forward, voice quiet, and they both jumped when they heard a noise, drawn into the story, not aware of their surroundings and getting surprised; Revan he gone over to WM-33, who was once again on their side of the dividing feature of the room, without them noticing. He had green military fatigues on, and a thin shirt, and was pulling on leather boots, running a thumb up the side slowly, to press both open edges, flared out, together and make them seamless. He wiggled the soles, and the material contracted, a small puff of air coming out of the pores, fitting perfectly.

"What is that?" asked Mab, as Revan brought a belt around his waist and clasped it in the front, attaching his lightaber, the pistol, and several grenades to the metal studs covering it, evenly divided into small flat rectangles strips. She was pointing at a thick vial of sturdy glass in a leather holster on one side; Revan was twisting the cap off.

"A nanomite container. These bots will erase all traces of my existence were ever I go, eating up fingerprints and strands of skin, specks of hair. It will make me sufficiently hard to track.

Speaking up, gazing over her head, he bellowed in a loud voice to everyone in the room, "When I am gone, attempt to get secure Sphere access, and research everything you can about this planet and the surrounding space. Any information could prove useful to our escape, which you should be tentatively designing while I am away. Mission will also serve a useful function- begin communicating with her immediately. However do not get too attached to your indefinite plan, when I have returned and finished, I have unfortunate data to share with you that will most likely alter them. Still, you should start."

He looked back down at Mab and noticed she was staring at him, tracing his jaw line, flicking up at his eyes, watching his mouth as it moved, focusing on his birdlike nose and eagle eyebrows. "What?" he said brusquely.

"Ah, sorry, nothing... it's just you look familiar to me"

He stared at her without words for a second, stern, then his demeanor softened. "You as well, actually."

"Really? Who do I remind you of?"

"No one" he replied quickly, "...No one important"

"Oh" she said simply, slightly affronted, "because whoever you remind me of was obvious special to ah... me. It's just a really powerful feeling, actually, really strong... it's weird."

"I'm on the all main sites and connect points. I am a frequent figure in the holovids." he said, chidingly, stating the obvious, like she should of figured it out by now, the meaning clear, as to say she was some silly girl getting flustered over meeting a celebrity.

"No. It's not like that. It's... well" she paused, frustrated, then suddenly, cheekily "How do I look familiar to you then- the Vids don't go both ways do they? How did you see me? How am I in your mind ... I need some kind explanation here Revan", momentary revealing her weakness and confusion; Revan choose to ignore it.

"Are you saying I look familiar and you to me, because we're met before? Don't be ridiculous. I have traveled far and interacted with many people. It is as simple as that." he said, seeming to be angry, enunciating his words clearly, an air of finality to them, wanting to end the discussion. "Besides, your figure" he stumbled slightly, now clumsy in his speech for a moment, an awkward faltering, "you-your" a small stutter, only noticeable because it was something he never did "appearance is not unique."

She paused, biting her lips, a glare coming into her eyes, but then put on a brave, but weak smile, as she was wont to do. "Fair enough. But if find your autograph, you have some explaining to do...."

As he threw on his robe and walked out, she mumbled grumpily under her breath "Maybe I gave him wedgies when he was a pipsqueak Jedi."

* * *

The hours bled into one, dull, but without much rest; they waited, confined, researching, the pale light of the screens the only illumination in the room, words and numbers reflecting off their faces, thin bands in a soft glow scrolling across their foreheads like circlets of information or resting in the whites of their eyes, looking over the information uninspired, not seeing any connections or brilliant ideas laying in wait, their investigations perfunctory, all of it blurring together, merely skimming it, giving no real thought, all becoming bland and meaningless, - Mission's input as well, woven in her nonstop chatter (although in fact, it did have a few pauses, when she wallowed in maddening boredom and paced back and forth) seeming to be useless as well, too narrow and specialized, too biased and focused to be of any really help, although Carth repeatedly commended Revan for bringing her along, calling him a brilliant strategist for befriending a local.

Mab however, was hesitant in handing out praise- although she saw that he had many admirable traits, she was reluctance in giving full out respect; there was too much strangeness between them and unsaid things to trust or admire him completely, without restraint- the man himself popped in and out infrequently, picking weapons off the gun rack on one of WMs opened doors, switching armaments out to get ones better suited to the situation, speaking with the droid in a low voice, removed from the rest of the group, urgent and quick, yet occasionally guffawing and snickering, always coming back and staring at them blandly, slack faced, aloof, no trace of any of the warmth and camaraderie shown moments before, or sat with Carth's computer screen, eyes moving quickly, brow furrowed, face ravenous with a thirst for knowledge, made lean by the hunger as he stared in focus, with piercing black eyes,; the exact opposite of their own indifferent, stale examinations, involved and passionate, muttering, occasionally exclaiming, or interrogating Mission, drilling her, oftentimes silencing her half way through sentences with a waved hand, cutting her off to move quickly to another topic, repeat what she had said, or go further back in the branching conversation, sometimes swooping in, face close, bending over, to belabor a point and keep on questioning it, in a quiet compelling voice; Mab was sure that it was only the kindness that he was in the habit of displaying toward the Twi-lek that keep him patient and gentle yet insistence; his burning gaze belied the true restlessness inside- something that he kept under control, even though Mission, who seemed to be enjoying the attention, chattered away, preening, pushing the boundaries to see how much she could talk, sometimes drawing things out to tantalize him and enjoy the power, although he quickly stopped it, tolerably and calm- Mabn swore she even purposelessly acted stupid, airheaded and ditzy, in one or two circumstances, just to keep Revan's hands on her shoulders, and once she even had the audacity to pop of bubble of gum and twirl it with her finger; Carth laughed when he saw this, the amusing contrast between the terrible Jedi, and the fearless girl, and Mab rolled her eyes. Since it never dragged on long enough for her to tire of the game, since Revan had to leave in intervals, she was stuck in this mindset- now that the real seriousness and danger had passed, when they were actually in enemy territory and he was weakened and wounded, she could indulge herself.

Through all of this, Mab now finally had time to really think (well time after she disconnected herself from Carth's talking, and simply let screens and pieces of trivia slide on by without mental comment or observation). It seemed to all involve Revan and her bond with him, although she understood in a way that was not the whole of it and by focusing only at him, she was simply avoiding some of the troubling questions considering her own mind. Still she knew it was one of the main problems, and could be the answer to the whole thing- unfortunately she did not even know the question yet. She could not understand why she was was entranced by him, like she was in a spell, and this ran through her thoughts over and over again, and although she knew she did not love him and it wasn't love at first sight- when no discernable answer was there, she was very close to seizing that one, because it was available, and at least made some sense- and she was scared because she knew that it would be a surrender, a easy way out and signaling a eventual collapse. But the ego needed some explanation- she had to pick something a logical reason, or her mind would begin to tear itself apart. She felt helpless, and though the whole transcendent experience hadn't completely soured yet, there was a dark worry, and madness to it that was not there before- yet also a frustrated anger that was, because of lack of better target, directed at the Jedi. She would not go to him weak, trembling, almost hysterical, or on a breaking point, begging for insight. She would stalk up to him and demand answers, and not let him leave until he gave satisfactory ones. With this goal my mind, she waited, watching him, through all senses, including the fledging news one she possessed, and when the moment arised, she was fully prepared to pin him, blocking all exits. She walked up to him, as he began to leave, a thousand thoughts bubbling and mixing in her mind, and opened her lips to speak, but he cut her off, surprising her and utterly deflating her aggressiveness, right on the edge, stopping her in her tracks frozen in a still pose, raised arms and wide mouth slowly drooping and going slack.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked, turning around and staring directly at her.

"What" she said shocked, uncomprehending.

"This is my last outing. Would you to accompany me, on it?"

* * *

They were on the top of a train, rushing past scenery, all a blur of metal and glass and night; Revan stood in the middle of one of the carts, on the flat steel surface, cloaked, the top peak of his hood pointed, arched, tapering off, the rest making his body appear minimalistic and skinny, spectral, like a thin shadow cast by long hours and high suns, his robe completely immobile, not fluttering in the wind at all. Although the train made wild turns on its magnetic rains, dropping and diving and speeding upwards, and sudden curves, he was not thrown off- occasionally he dropped a little lower, or hunched to become more aerodynamic, but there was never any sign of him ill at ease- Mab was perfectly safe as well- her feet sometimes lifted off the ground, leaving her in free fall for a couple seconds, or slid due to inertia near the edge, but Revan's tightly clenched hand, protective and reassuring, on her forearm seemed to stop her from bulleting away, the now, growing familiar ripple of power, that she sensed surrounding them.

Speeding down tracks that sizzled with electricity and arcs of power, the train acted like it was on some sort of dangerous, demented rollercoaster; it rose in elevation on mad slopes, going up thousands of feet, in less than a moment's notice, went in horizontal spirals or loops, and all of a sudden took turns to the left and right in a few seconds, the change in direction facilitated by nothing more than a simple, small bend in the route, and then they would at wild speeds, be going west when they were heading north, a blink ago, switching without losing any acceleration. The tracks twinned through the city, never in a straight line for long, sometimes heading through buildings, swooping up to travel over them on rooftops, careening downwards to pass by way of damp basements and foundations, or twisting around them tightly, encircling the spires, climbing, maddening loop after loop, then the next moment, bridging some gap and blazing off to a different section. Sometimes the tracks twisted and bent like tortured metal, and the train would stick to the underside of some platform, or spin around and around, constantly changing orientation or go upside down for a few minutes straight- there were other strange movements and techniques beyond these, and Mab was sure she had not seen them all, but after the first big shock, she felt she could handle everything else, was desensitized to it all, for after only a few minutes of riding, one train ahead of them, it's lights shining, had blazed directly their way, causing her to scream loudly but their mount had simply slid over it, moved on its back, and then sloped off the end; since then nothing else could scare her, none of the moves and contortions, although they did cause a dizzying exhilaration, a lightness to the head, and restless weightless stomach- and so, as they blasted through Taris, past skyscrapers, she turned to speak with Revan.

"For the last two to three days" he said, "I have been hunting down the gang leaders of this district, those who saw my escape, and removing their memories. Leaving this planet will mostly take time-what I am doing extends the amount we have. The man we are hunting today will most likely be guarded- so people will notice if a shot him; ironically, a secretive attack from the distance is _too _conspicuous; they will find the dart and learn _why_... Instead I will assault him in close quarters, making it look a brutish, poorly though out assassination attempt, and in the process, before allowing myself to get chased away, giving the appearance the main goal was a failure, I will wound him, giving him a concussion or a temporary brain injury. Hopefully no one will guess that this is the true purpose of all that will be done."

"It's up ahead- a few more minutes and then we drop in. Stay close to me"

"How are you going to do this?" Mab asked.

"I'll distract the guards and then assault the leader. They're notice something's wrong and return just in time- to, as they will believe, "save his life". Unbeknownst to his man, the ten to fifteen seconds they are gone and his closest soldiers disabled is all I need. When they get back in, they will catch me holding him, beaten within an inch of his life, and I will get chased away.

"And me?"

"Just be careful. Try not to get separated.... Here it is, now quickly-" he said, having more directions and speeding up his pace to say them- they were close to a precipice - the tracks dropping almost completely straight down, the rooms and boxes in front of them going over the side, pulled close and snug to the rails, folding across the edge tightly, falling forward- "Let go when I go. Let yourself fly forward. Keep on moving through the air until you go through both windows. When you descend and land get into a roll so your speed is reduced. "

A large window was ahead of them-directly in front, lined up perfectly -taking up almost the entire front of a watchtower projecting out of a square building, part of a bigger complex. Armed men were inside busy at computers and communication devices- Revan pulled out a small remote and pushed a button- the grenade attached a couple yards preceding them decamped itself, and flew like a rocket through the glass , shattering it, and going through the room to the other side, leaving the tower and hitting another across a long gap. There was a huge explosion, and though the building and beyond, they could see the second tower engulfed in flame, crumpling- they were heading at the tower, (This is impossbil-" "NOW!") and as the train plummeted without warning, continued flying forward, inertia carrying them. They jetted through the shattered pane, Mab twisting and flailing through the air, curling up in a ball; Revan like some superhero, arms extended to each side, body perfectly straight, feet a few inches above the ground, crashing through some of the remaining glass, pieces flying ahead of him, avoiding all other obstacles, clothes lining two guards to either side of him. They continued forward, their momentum making them like cannonballs, and then left the building through the opposite side, now beginning to descend. Mab hit the ground in a roll and tumbled quickly, until it become messy and bouncing, and she lay in an arching fetal position, every part of her body hurting- Revan fall face first and landed skidding forward, one arm holding a long strip of his cloak to cover his body, which sparked and burned as he slid across the ground. As he shot past a skylight, indented deeply into the ground, he turned and rolled, now sliding on his back, pulling out two revolvers and aiming at the first guard tower, shooting at those pointing at him, bullets which exploded into puffs of poisonous gas. He continued moving on his back, dodging falling debris of the second tower, chunks of flaming rock, steering slightly with his feet to avoid them, then rammed into the cracked wall, his body forcefully folded into the sitting position, immediately pointing both pistols up and shooting a man leaning over the smoky edge, about to fire at him.

Quickly getting up, he sprinted to Mab and yanked her to her feet- they stood nearby the edge of the skylight peering in. A surprised man in black put a hand of the mob bosses chest, protectively and walked out with a few reinforcements to investigate, all who left with curious worry. Revan nodded at Mab, and they dropped through the skylight, Revan landing on one of the body guards, and engaging in a brief martial's arts duel with the other four, easily defeating them with single hits. He then went at the mob boss, a smaller middle aged man, balding with a few liver spots on his forehead, and grabbed him by the lapels, lifting him off his feet. The man, as he was held for a few seconds, squirmed and moaned- Revan growled at him and threw him over his shoulder, onto the ground with a loud crash, then turned, kicking him in the face.

He dropped down, extended his hand out halfway, in a slow meditative manner, palm open, and closed his eyes, focusing for a moment, sending a tingle down Mab's spine, then jammed it at the man's skull, a large bruise instantly appearing, and causing him to pass out. He pulled the man against the wall and began brutally punching him over and over again- stopping when a few men burst in, surprised for a second, staring at him, immobile as he held the bloody ragged figure, before firing. Dodging the lasers, he grabbed Mab and ran for a hallway, barreling down staircases, a few bolts and explosion arrows missing then and imbedding in the wall. They reached a large metal door, guards in close pursuit, and Revan slammed it shut, closed his eyes again, a recognizable action that he had done for the second time tonight, gathering his energy, and hit an open palm again the edge, on the lock, crushing it against the wall, smashing that part flat and barring the way.

"This way!", he shouted to Mab.

They took many seemingly random turns, then burst though another door, into a sparsely populated hall, marble floor, reception desks and tables, a lobby of sorts, long and skinny. He continued forward, running directly at a group of people in suits as the rest of the room fired at him, tearing the place up, chips and specks of masonry flying off the walls and statues, Mab after him, sprinting and leaping. He grappled with the guards, attacking him with stun prods and batons, but he fought wrestling style, hugging then close, stopping their arms and kicks, and hitting then, throwing them down. From one of the defeated he grabbed a rifle and shoved it against his hipbone, firing from the waist, blowing up one of the pillars, causing an explosion that blew half out of the other. A woman ran at him, Revan chopped at her face and swept her legs out from underneath, pulling out of her holster as she fell what appeared to be a grappling gun. Now walking forward towards the sliding doors (for jetpack couriers) and firing with one hand, he blew away the front of the lobby to reveal that the bullet train was heading by- he fired the grappling gun as well, attached the entire thing to the pillar next to him, and pulled Mab to him.

"Hold on"

The line soon became taut, and since it was virtually indestructible, the cord and the gun pulled a huge chunk out of the column, which Revan grabbed onto, gripping onto a rocky hold. They were yanked forward and were soon flying across the lobby as it collapsed behind them- leaving the building entirely when this floor fell apart, a single tracking rocket following them, the only shot that anyone was able to get off. Revan flew alongside the train for a little bit, then kicked off it, speeding into the sky, the missile shooting past- ran alongside a large billboard, ancient and ripped, pushed off that, flew over the surface of the train, was whipped along overhead like someone parasailing, like a massive bird, then kicked off of a building, arching forward, the line forming a curve and landing in front of where the grapple had attached. The rocket cut the line, and it fell- Revan grabbed onto the severed end as it floated over him, kicked the rock off the roof, then began swinging it around his head like a mace. When it picked up enough speed, he swung it at the rocket that was heading directly at them from the front, causing it to explode.

Mab looked at Revan, completely dumbfounded, eyes wide and starry. "That was... AWESOME!"

He panted heavily, mouth in a wolfish grin, tongue hanging out; unable to help himself, to contain the excitement.

"So this is what we know- let us summarize", Revan said, pacing back and forth above them as they sat; the Jedi holding Carth's computer screen, pre-cuing it rapidly so projections and holograms would pop up when he needed them. "Behind the moons of Amber Hollocreux, The Exile's main fleet lies. Likewise, at the edge of this system, in a confidential sector of space, a large detachment of the Republic fleet has retreated some distance- made up of the ships that went through the four planets, cleaning up the infiltrators and the leftovers of the battle, and rescuing the downed soldiers. They are both waiting.

"I know it's a delicate system of checks and balances sir, but can't more be sent?"

"It's simply not possible. More can't be put into this perilous situation; we like to keep the fleets moving. "

"So right now, they remain somewhere, some vague random place, of no use to anyone."

"They stay to hopefully hold The Exile's fleet in place, which is approximately the same distance from all the four planets of importance in this... scenario. They are there to let the Exile know, if she makes her move, she puts herself in a position where almost her entire Armanda will be destroyed. However, to her it will be worth the sacrifice, if she consumes the planet I am on."

"Consumes, what exactly does that mean?" Mab asked, slightly angrily, frightened, emotional.

"That... that is not necessary to explain at the moment. All you need to know is this; it cannot defended against, and cannot be stopped. There is no way of evading of it. No shelter..."

"Hyrule man!" said Carth, voice rising, "if that's the case, why not bring the entire might of the Republic over here to protect Taris! Or at least enough to be more just a flimsy threat. We're supposed to be protectors, not Dejarik pieces, holding people in place!"

"If we did that, there is a possibility that the line surrounding the inner planets would be left open, to a fatal extent. It is also possible that if we mustered a large enough Armanda she could directly attack- on her unique level, any of other our fleets left over, killing everyone inside- we only have a certain number of ships that posses enough long ranges weapons to keep her at a safe distance. Commit these resources elsewhere-it leaves everyone else very vulnerable. The best we can do however is destroy her after she attacks- she will be leaving herself open.

"By then the entire planet will already be dead then. Including you!" said Mab.

"That is why it is the worst case scenario. But even then, something could be salvaged from it. She will not achieve her goals without a grievous price. That is the essence of strategic thinking. And what this means is she will not attack unless she is absolutely sure! On anything but a certainty it would be folly. That is the most important thing. That is where we come in. We must never tip her off. Never give any sign. Our escape plans must remain inconspicuous. It is up to us now!" he said, one finger up, shoving it forward, gesturing dramatically.

"Well it shouldn't be that hard" said Mab positively, "We done some planning, and already set up accounts to purchase tickets-there's plenty of cheap confidential liners, leaving-"

"And here's where my final revelation comes into place, the one I warned you about." He pushed a button of the edge of the thin liquid screen, and an image of a metallic orb projected from it. "The Sith obtained my DNA at their great cost. Scattered about, in orbit around Taris, hidden among the great multitudes, are several small sensors." He paused. "It is easier to continuously scan the space surrounding a planet, a thin 2D layer, the surface, the final layer" he waved his hand, and and the shape of a globe appeared- a few centimeters off, a yellow shell surrounded it, "then to investigate the entire sphere ", now the representation of Taris glowed completely yellow, and small numbers dialed and flittered near the edge. "The area, many times larger, of course presents a logistics problem. So as long as we stay on the Planet we are safe, but it we even attempt to leave, the Exile will be altered immediately.

"So what now?"-"Are these sensors around every planet" Carth and Mab asked at the same time.

"Yes Carth, in some shape or form. I have to admit, unfortunately, they are the worst here at Taris... disguised as satellites, hidden among the rest of the space fare, spinning around and around," the air above the computer showed just that, grayish orbs the size of cars, one portal on each, a small circular window glowing blue, locked in the gravity, rapidly slinging around the planet, looping over and over again, slingshoting, "watching at all hours, but the rest have similar devices. Lest-Ta-Bleur is unique in that it's a class five warship serving this purpose, one of the last ships remaining from The Atrocity Army _-"The End of Famine."_

"And there too many to destroy?"

"Destroying one or ten is useless. A small group of de-miners have been refitted to remove them, no more to protect suspicion, but this will not benefit us"

"So..."He said wearily, the one word carrying much weight, rubbing his face "I wish to hear your suggestions, before I bring up my own. Any ideas?"

Both Mab and Carth, who had either been brought down by the knowledge, heads hung low, appearing progressively more and more depressed and hopeless, or simply started to ponder deeply, began, after few minutes of silence, to hesitantly pitch plans.

"Perhaps if we organize some kind of resistance, lead an attack on the orbital ring?"

"A solar flare? Try to activate one. Hijack a warhead?"

"Certainly you can eventually create a coded message that only your true allies will be able to access" said Mab, in disbelief.

"Is there any way to block the scans?"

Revan looked up, "None that I know of. No alloy or hull I have heard of works. These are planet grade devices. The Force powers used in the course of my day are on a different scale. They will not avail me. The only way to slip past would be to actually change my DNA. And that's impossible. A treatment like that- as extensive as it would be, would take too much time. It just doesn't happen all at once. And since the mechanism of change is piece by piece, on a single gene basis, it would be something I could not recover from. I couldn't simply reverse it."

"Is there some power or technology that could do so- an instant transformation?"

"There are mutations and inherited sicknesses. And cancers that effect part of the body, the very cells themselves. But all at once, together, as one, in a consistent way? Nothing I have seen in my travels point to the existence of anything like that."

"The Rakghouls", volunteered Mission, something suddenly occurring to her.

"What?" said Revan slowly, thoughtfully.

"There's this curse, they call it, and people, if they get bitten, will start twisting and moaning, their spines breaking and snapping, and turning into these gray monsters. They live down deep. I've seen a couple. I've... seen it happen."

"Come on, that has to -" began Carth, but Revan seemed inspired, moving quicker now, limber, and excited, long strides. "Of course" he said, typing swiftly, checking facts and references. "Yes...yes I think-"

"And they're looking for an antidote, so that means there has to be some way to change back right- or they wouldn't even be trying."

"There's a cure for everything" said Revan dismissively, waving it off, wrapped up in his idea. "If we can get to Coruscant, safely contained, so we don't hurt ourselves or each other we will survive."

He looked at Mission "Who are the doctors working on it? What are their names? If we get four samples and inject ourselves with them-"

"Wait, we?" asked Mab "Why do we need to transform? You're the one getting hunted."

Revan slowed to a halt, the energy leaving his body, and he turned to her, looking like he was caught, like she had picked up on something that she shouldn't have.

"Well..." he said "One strange life form not in their records, traveling with two humans and a Twe-lik? Very suspicious. The sensors aren't full AI but they are linked together to notice this type of thing- aliens of that variety, so bizarre no one knows what they are, normally don't travel with anyone but themselves."

"Won't the very fact that they don't have records of it seem odd?" asked Carth .

"No no no, there are thousands of species, they couldn't possibly know all of them. But they do know some very basic patterns and -"

"You're lying" said Mab boldly, out of nowhere, as it seemed to the rest of the group, interrupting him, bringing all attention to her suddenly when before she was relatively unnoticed; Carth's head jerked towards her and he appeared confused, Mission's mouth was open, Revan was shocked, looking at her in surprise. "Or you are not telling the whole truth. What is really going on here?"

Revan paused for a long time, staring, and then sat down in front of her, tapping his long fingers slightly. "Very well... I did not want to worry any of you. "He took a deep breath but did not seem completely earnest- as if defeated, he was just trying a different tact. "The Exile's sees far and she sees wide. She does not know what planet I am on, but she knows what will happen, basically, the probabilities of it, wherever I do end up. The results. She knew that if I landed on Taris, I would end up with Carth, and you, at the very least. She has alerted her computers to this fact. Now, your presence is just as dangerous as mine- after all if you didn't know I was here, you should have evacuated by now. So, you three, and a rakghoul, an unexplainable unknown species, brought together- it is an easy ruse to discover. I do not known how much she has predicated, but we must attempt to disguise all of us. To her the vagaries' of human fate-

"No" she said softly, once again cutting him in the same manner. She was shaking her head, brow furrowed, titled like someone dealing with a problem, or noticing a faint sound.

"Mab." Carth said, quietly, admonishing.

"You're laying it on too thick, exaggerating things. What is really going on here, Revan, tell me? What is the main reason?" gazing at him intensely. The silence was heavy- and they all stared at each other, looking back and forth, making brief eye contact, tensely- as none dare break it, awkward and expectant.

Revan was no longer thrown off balance or startled; he looked at her coldly, appraising; voice curt and and words short; whatever had allowed her to see his half truths and pick up on his fibs, something no one else could do, apparently, was being attended to and walled off, all the little cues obvious to her were disappearing; Revan becoming like a harsh towering wall, no niche and hole to grab onto or notice, not irregularities, perfectly smooth and unassailable, uniform and hintless. He began speaking, slowly, deliberately. "The Sith have system... I can hide myself from trained Force users. They are obvious to me. Their presence is like a beacon. We are on the same wave-length. Non force users are out of their league in searching for me. There is no possibility of them finding me. There is a third category. Why you were draw to me. Untrained Force Users, those who slip through the cracks of both organizations, will be pulled my way. It is a compulsion found in all, but the apprenticed either control it, (the Jedi not going after me, for example) or reveal themselves through it. You... slip under the radar. I did not will you to find me... It was unavoidable. You are a valuable resource.... people like you were found and planted on every ship in the convey, without their knowledge... You...are a Force user"

Mab looked at him, and then in a harsh, throaty, almost erotic voice, of triumph acceptance, of affirmed belief secretly held in the depths of one's heart, said "Yes"

Revan shivered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Descent into the Underworld**

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, while Carth clucked unheeded in the background, standing up now, and walking back and forth excitingly, shaking his hands in wild gestures. "I knew it" he shouted, "I knew it! I just knew there was something off about you! Your past was just too extraordinary, it didn't flow together, something was missing; I never guessed this, I don't know, I thought you were an infiltrator, a sleeper agent, or maybe even a cyborg or something. Now it makes sens-"

Mab turned to him, face contorted incredulously, eyes brows raised, a hint of mock indignation is her voice, "You thought I was a fricking robot?! _Thanks Carth_", the last part heavy with sarcastic emphasis.

Carth moved near by the two sitting, excitably, and leaned over them, hands on his knees, hair hanging in face, eyes bright and lively, "Does this change anything? Can this be used to our advantage?"

At the same time, Mission, looking in awe at Mab, glanced back and forth between the two Force users and said ,"So you got powers just like him?', amazed.

Revan, looking down at his feet, tracing a circle on the dirty ground idly with one long finger, began to speak delicately, responding to Carth's first statements. "It is true that undiscovered, untrained Conduit's often live extraordinary existences. Their natural gifts, instead of beings used overtly and obviously, are sublimated and channeled into various aspects of their life, this already in addition to their peak mental and physical states- oftentimes they become extreme wealthy, or are very lucky, or frequently, have a certain glamour to them- fame simply for fames sake, their intense charisma and attractiveness drawing the attention of the masses, if it is a smaller isolated planet. Mab's story, her early educational excellence, her scholarships to multiple universities on** Corusant** while a nobody child on **Tatatione**, her career and academic success as only a teenager and her escapades in the war, while amazing, are not impossible... not with The Force.

"So... all of that... all of that is because of The Force? I had help with everything?" She said downcast, with a worried questioning face; this would explain why despite all the supposedly amazing thing she had done, she never felt a connection to any of it, to the memories, as if she had actually experienced them. Her degree of removal from her past, the idea that she had not been the one fully in control, making decisions, made sense now; it put into place the sickening feeling of no autonomy or true say in what happened that appeared whenever she reviewed the years before.

Revan looked directly at her, shaking his head. "This is common, documented thought with many of those who discover their gift late in their lives, this self doubting. You are not alone in this insecurity; it can be devastating. But remember this: The Force is not some benevolent deity laying boons on you from afar, it flows through you, flows through everything you do. Your powers are you, are a part of who you are. Everything you do with is just the highest expression of your willpower... all actions... good... and evil..." He paused. "Think of it this way; a runner wins a race- does he give credit to his legs or himself?"

She mulled this over silently then said, "So now what? Do you start training me? I mean, where do we go from here?"

"No!" said Revan sharply, and stood up, "No. (he repeated, the repetition for the sake of politeness, so he could say it again in a more gentle tone.) And this is precisely the reason why I didn't tell you, didn't want to say anything unless I had to. I can't have you experimenting. You are completely unpracticed, with raw power, and anything you do with have a unique signature to it that you are not skilled enough to hide. I remember your retelling of encountering The Disciple and his slaves... I believe he was searching for you specifically, must likely to attach some kind of tracking device to you. You escaped before he could do this- yet...they have your scent. You use you powers, your wild chaotic powers, at the moment, and not only may I not be able to save you, restrain you if anything goes wrong, but if there are any Sith nearby, in this section of of Taris, as there most likely are, you will be a beacon shining bright. Just what they planned, I am sure... you were at your peak, teetering on the edge, a bomb waiting to go off, when they planted you... You must have realized over the days, the strange new expansion of your perceptions." Throughout all of this he paced in a state of aggravation.

"No, we will do nothing more, push nothing more, until we are off this planet. You are a _liability_" he said harshly. "Do not go beyond your vague sensory ability; do not try to do anything else... yet even that is dangerous. There are people in this universe who if you see them, see you as well.

"Do not attempt to extend your wandering thoughts beyond this planet." He warned ominously. "You may find yourself, trapped, like a fly caught in web, if you get to close. You know of who I speak; her name, spoken in a deep trance, can bring unwanted attention."

Something Revan said sparked a connection, must likely his talk of looking upon people with other forms of observation then the mundane, and Mab rocketed up as well, suddenly, in euphoria, inspired, having an epiphany. "I remember were I've seen you before! In my dreams! They're hardly coherent, and I don't really recall them when I wake up, but it's all coming back now. I've been having this recurring vi-vision I guess, of you fighting Bastila on her flagship."

Revan blinked once rapidly, and then spoke softly "This is an...interesting...development. I will have to think it over. Do some study on it perhaps." Stroking his chin, he turned away from her slightly, absorbed and withdrawn- Mab, growing impatient after a few seconds, tried to extend her mind towards his, probe his thoughts, do on purpose what she had been doing half intuitively, almost physically, like a automatic biological reflex for the last couples days, staring at his broad back. Revan raised one hand, still facing away, and said sternly, "Now that you know what it is you doing, I will ask you to refrain from it. Ignorant cannot excuse your...rudeness any further. You will find me not as forgiving to this breach of etiquette as the other Jedi" He paused for a second longer, pondering ,and then turned around ,apparently moving on completely from this rebuke and and beginning to talk- but Mab cut him off. "That's another thing, actually. How can I sense your emotions- I feel this deep access to you, this hyper empathy. It doesn't happen with anyone else. And when I'm not even trying, there's this intense connection to you, on at all times."

He appeared in quick thought, and deep concentration, and then he said, "It all comes to the same thing, it's all tied together. I sensed it as well, of course, and thought over it extensively, but even though I could see the bond distressed you, I could not bring it up, as it relates back to The Force and to speak of one problem would reveal the associated secret, your gift, which I was trying to avoid. Yes it was all jumbled together, but how deeply connected not even I could guess. You see both problems, the dreams and the connection, have one root, a root even deeper and more specific than just your Force sensitivity."

"And what is that?" she asked.

"Imprinting." he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger pinched together, shoving them forward, and moving closer. "When was the attack on your school?" he asked, setting her up for the revelation, with restrained excitement, as if he was in a enthusiastic rush to share his insight, a fit of sudden eureka and realization,

"13.300.004 standard, but what does that have to do with anything?

"My duel with Bastila was on the exact same day. That very night in fact! Hypo-dendit gives the victims intense strokes, either killing them outright, or wiping clean all their language centers, dexterity, learned body moments and some memory. You were a blank slate, in a coma, completely open. All the boundaries built up throughout your life were destroyed, the walls of your ego momentary lowered. Fresh, exposed, nothing impeding your powers, or forcing them to act in a certain way, in a diluted manner, to one end. They weren't contained, portioned off, to various isolated, unintegrated goals and skills, as it traditionally was. And then, when there was physical turbulence that impacted all of the most sensitive Force users, you, instead of hiding your abilities, using them in a diminished form, your mind, preconceptions, built up ideas and methods of dealing with things getting in the way, were wide open; completely exposed, the power of an adult, the blankness of an infant. It must have had a drastic effect on you. No wonder you still dream of it, you became obsessed with it in a way- it's an integral part of your psyche now. This nerve gas has allowed you to start over, Force wise, no blocks in the way, and it's possible that the combination of this momentous battle, and the later Force healing, kindled your ability even further. The perfect storm of events."

"And my connection to you? I wasn't even in a wiped state at that moment; I clearly remember _not_ drooling on myself" she said, slightly bitter, touchy, irrationally angry at him dragging up her injuries.

"I was the first Conduit you met fully conscious, in this state of mind. The fact of my extreme power, that my guard was down, and that you had surprised me also all contributed- we imprinted you on each other- we bonded at that moment. I didn't understand it fully then, but I do now. Trust me; I was just as shocked as you."

Mab stood; brows furrowed in confusion, overwhelmed, "This is a lot to take in all at on-"

Revan interrupting, talking mostly to himself, saying in a speculative, wondering tone, "Can you imagine. All the pieces fitting together, randomly, a coincidence, changing your past life completely, and perhaps...creating a Jedi."

Her eyes widened, and she looked distraught at this thought- it was too much, a sudden burden- she caught Carth out of the corner of her eye and he winked at her, partially to console her, and partially to break the heavy intensity of the conversation, "Not just a Jedi... an overachiever Jedi. You just seem to excel at all parts of your life. Already having visions...dang. I guess The Force doesn't really explain why you were so awesome at your mundane career, since you seem to be on the route to do the same thing in your Jedi one."

She gave him a small comforted simile, and blinked in slight shock, as Revan rushed at her, grabbing her by the shoulders lightly. "Mab, one last thing, no matter what happens, no matter how angry you get with me, the Jedi Order, or even the tenets of the Light side, do not join the Sith. Even if you choose the Dark Path, the Sith do not embody it. Not these Sith. You will go to them seeking passion and liberty and self excellence, and they will capture you, and they will break you. Promise me, whatever happens, you will not join the Sith!" he repeated.

"Why would I?" she said, completely nonplussed, eyes flicking back and forth, shrugging.

Revan paused for a moment , frozen, surprised, hunched over her, and then chuckled, laughing at how obvious this response was, this response he did not anticipate, had not given any thought at all or expected. "Yes, why would you?" he said chortling harder, and then lifted his head to the tunnel ceiling, a happy grin for some reason stretching on his face, unexpectedly joyful, chuckle now turning into a laugh- him sunnily saying, "I don't know -haha- the heath plan perhaps?"

WM-33 lifted his arm, charging it with a buzz to emphasize his point, "Statement: And they sure do need one, Master."

-------------

The group stood back in the merchants alleyway, in front of a series of stalls selling weapons, exotic tools hanging from the edge of the roofs, by thronged leather strings, or in gently moving woven baskets; thousands of different devices of death, with a multitude of completely unique categories, so many that not even a professional could ever prepare themselves for all possibilities; when visiting a planet, a traveling warrior had to learn the culture and equip themselves with defenses appropriate to that area, and hope they weren't blindsided by something utterly unknown; there were the big three, lasers of all different colors and spectrums, melee weapons with molecule thin blades and hammer heads that could change mass within seconds, becoming impossibly heavy, and slugthrowers and wristlauncers and boltcasters, but even that category was wildly complex; bullets could explode in bursts the size of a house, release pellets, toxins, radiation, swarms of moving needles and darts, or bounce and ricochet wildly, and tiny rockets could blast around corners and track people through small cracks and holes, adjusting their altitude and angle, and fly in circles and loops- beyond that there were the wands- stun, sonic, electric, grenades with built in computers, that could become mines and clamp down onto the ground within seconds, follow behind their target with small jets and propulsion tubes, or inch up the sides of buildings slowly on spider legs, weapons that spat fire or plasma or sticky liquids, the selection only getting more and more alien and strange; after these galactic constants, the diversity depended on the primitiveness and otherness of the locale: here, gigantic guns that looked like wide mouthed cannons that would suck debris and rubbish in and then spit them out, and could be loaded with any junk, no matter how unaerodynamic , just had to shove it in, stuff it full, sometimes leaning the gun on the ground, pointing up, and kicking or jabbing a foot into the mass to compact it further, or shaking it to situate the jumble better, and on different setting could send blasts of pure magnetism to create a sharp wave of tiny metal flying at the target, or even throw them and pin them against wall, if they had prosthetic parts, strange knobby guns with green boils and bumps on them that burst with corrosive slime; dazzlers, small boxes that shot egg shaped spheres floating around the enemies, spheres automatic calibrated to a specific species, that flashed and glowed in certain patterns and colors, giving them seizures, or wailed, causing them to lose bowel control; intricate shurikens, multileveled, surrounded by various boomerang shaped blades and carefully placed gaps of air, that when twisted and contorted just right, arranged like a puzzle, could slice through all enemies at once, lopping and spinning through the air, some of the pieces rotating like helicopter blades, until returning on a planned path to the hand, each situation and placement of combatants requiring a different, very specific adjustment, only usable by Attirceans, genius level Hybores or droids, due to the immense difficulty and spatial intelligence required, kite like objects that floated above the battlefield, drawing lighting and shooting it, or swooping down and attacking- thousand of toxins, gases, and organic ammunition (puffer fish like animals attached on ropes like balloons, blown over and defended against, sent back, away, by waving fans frantically (*in the primitive times on the weapons originator's planet) or by pointing guns resembling hair dryers, that released gusts of air, small bat like creatures launched that grabbed onto faces, tiny inserts living within the teeth of certain aliens spat out or pulled out with pinched fingers from rotten cavities struggling, onto a hand, held close to the mouth; their owners would then lean forward and whisper at them in strange tongues ,and then release them onto the ground to scamper away with a mission)- and to defend against all this, bizarre carapaces and suits, strange fields that warped the fabric of reality, mechanized armor, the green glow of the environment shields, thin shining threads normally imbedded within plates and clothing, the yellow shine of kinetic shields, and the shifting red of laser protection.

The kiosk they were currently at was adorned mostly with club like weapons, blunt and made out of knotted wood, resembling gourds, in a variety of shapes, some long and mace like, others rounder, some with holes on their tips, which ratting beads fell out of occasionally, However, there were also several full sets of armor behind the merchant, pieces of protection on wire statues; some were standard Republic Marine outfits, while others seemed to be those of legendary mercenaries or heroes, all paired with working weapons.

They allowed Mission, holding two pieces of holo-paper, to deal with the merchant, who was a small, yellowish gray creature with a large beak nose, and a weak head covered in a few hairs- it wheezed continuously and stared at them with watery eyes as its intentions were spoken robotically by a remote floating around it. Mission comminuted to talk with it, occasionally checking the two sheets, scrolling down by dragging a finger, and making notes; there was a list of their inventory and what they were looking for, what they were willing to trade or sell; Revan stood behind them, wearing large aviator sunglasses, blocking out most of his face, holding two black duffel bags filled with acquired weapons from their various battles, and weapons from the back of WM-33 that he didn't need or couldn't use on Taris. "Hey, can we trade for the four barrel gun, for the duel wrist shielding?" , Mission said, turning to the Jedi Master. Revan nodded, dropped a bag, and pulled out a stout, blocky gun, pure black with a perfectly rectangular body, dropping it on the wooden counter. The storekeeper nodded, and Carth stuck his hands in two slots, in a case, pulling them out again with a large bracelet on each wrist, covering parts of the hand and forearm- they activated with a thrum, and on each side, opposing, a kinetic and a laser shield appeared, in triangular form. Clenching his fist, the entire outer edge of the bracelet rotated, making it so now the laser shield was facing front, instead of the kinetic- Mab went over to Carth and looked at this new device, holding up his hand, curiously, chatting to him about it, then twisting it slightly to get into the optimal position. When she turned around, Mission had a large tank on her back, burnished and covered in brass and fine wood, and was putting her fingers into a box on her right hand, attaching them to it. It was ringed with glowing blue coils, and a large plastic tube led from its back to the tanks- it smelled of ozone.

"Why does she need a weapon?"? Mab asked pointedly.

"Would you send her defenseless?"

"Ok, bigger picture then, why is she even coming? No offense darling" said Mab to Mission, who was beginning to get a surly, displeased expression on her face, "but don't you think it would be safer to leave her here? We're might be heading into danger. We might even have to go into The Underworld. It probably won't work out perfectly with Zelka. He'll just give a hint or a lead, nothing more concrete then that."

Revan drew himself up, the hints of his eyebrows over the glasses drawing together thunderously, "She is safest with me.", and then turned away from Mab to Mission. Mission replied, half to Revan half to Mab, "This is mostly for anti-droid use anyways" she said, crumpling her fingers up, and causing a short burst of plasma to shoot out- "the plasma causes the air to become ionized- it messes up with computers-although it can be used to burn people to."

"Yes, that's the point" said Revan, "you will stick with T3-M4- behind his shielding and weapon systems, helping him operate them. The both of you will be our specialists if we run into any ancient security systems down there."

"Doot root de root" replied T3-M4, a far amount of distance away, at another booth, getting fitted with additional chunks and pieces of hardware, cubes and parts lowered into open slots, weapons attached to extended manipulators.

"Do you have any more planning then that, Revan? What I mean is, have you planned for anything else besides just security systems?" said Carth, leaning over and looking at the holo-sheets. "Do these guns wanted have a specific purpose, for some specific event we might find ourselves in?

"Can we plan for anything?. We have no idea what's down there. It's not, it's no-" she began to say, shaking her head.

"You are right. It is the great unknown. But the type of weapons is largely irrelevant. Each one does not have to be matched up perfectly, for every scenario. We can suppose, at worst, there are large hordes of mindless beasts, and desperate, unarmed people. In that case, it doesn't matter what kind we have- in comparison to WM-33, in terms of blunt firepower, we are insignificant, we will not register, make a difference; thus we are searching for weapons not to be useful on the scale of an overall battle, but to benefit you solely, to allow a controlled attack on the crowd- if it comes that. To attack specific enemies, that say, are proving to be dangerous distractions, harm and damage part of the environment to our detriment, or are assaulting you directly, having breached the perimeter. Right now, we are focusing on self protection, shielding and precision guns, so you can be safe in this type of situation- just shielding" he said "not specific environment suits" to Carth, whose mouth was opening up into a question, pulling the sheet away and holding it in front of him, at eye level. Revan tapped the bottom of it, drew a thin red line, scribbled something out with the tip of his finger, and said, "That is why we are not shopping for environmental suits. We don't know actually what it's like down there, as Mab said. We'll buy them after we do a little more research, after we talk to Zelka Forn and the other doctors, if need be, after we know if we have to go at all and what region we are visiting."

"Still, it is good to have the best weapons possible. Carth, do you need to upgrade yours?"

"No, trust me- these are perfectly fine" said Carth. Mab however leaned over, grabbed the katana out of the bag (her dagger and chainsaw sold at an earlier store) and put it in front of the salesperson, gesturing to it, beginning to browse.

Later, Mab had bought a small flaccid strip of blackish material, resembling a cat of nine tails whip , branching off in multiple directions, that at the touch of the leather handle, sprang into a solid shaft, forming a baton, electricity hardening the special substance, the amount of energy used deciding the length and thickness, it even possible sharpen the ends to thin points- the other tendrils optionally expanding as well to form crooks and forks and additional protrusions, and upgrades, some bullets and flamer fuel, for one of Revan's gun's and a holster, so it would fit in the crook of her arm, a bandolier of helicopter grenades, and a kinetic dueling shield, held in front of the body by a ornamented handle- Carth also purchased an environmental bubble loop, one that would be placed and molded on the ground, like putty, and then activated, for one time, before it burned up, a pair of nifty holsters that attached to his forearm, that would cause his guns to spring to his hands at the slightest twitch (the creature had modified the bracelets so it would all fit together and slid past each other; wearing a magnifying glass squeezed in one eye, and wielding a jewelers drill, it created a small channel in the white porcelain material**) **which is what he was doing at the moment, sleeves of his duster rolled up; he would stand still and then suddenly jerk into position, legs spreading, guns flying into hands, and then reset himself, straightening back up, repeating, over and over again, a neural scrambler wand for Mission, and a handheld rocket launcher, paired up with advanced shielding, so the blasts could be contained in domes of a variety of sizes, regulating how big and small they were and what they destroyed- the most expensive of all the objects purchased that day (Carth had argued with Revan that such an weapon was needed, even though WM-33 served its function- the debate was to consider the possibly that something might happen to the droid)

"What is that, over there?" Mab asked, pointing at a strange gun on a messy pile of disks, small chests and quaint trunks, a few tubes of smoking incenses, and jewelry.

"This, human" the merchant said, "is a laser pistol, built in wondrously archaic manner."" He now held it up in front of her, across both of his long sallow fingers. "The Consans began building laser technology at a much earlier time period than most other civilizations. This is due to the unique topography of their homeworld- the pirates of Gunbdroo hunted their manta ray enemies beneath blazing suns and eventually began using the glistening waters and gigantic pieces of glass in the hulls of their ship, on the bottom of them, with nothing but water underneath, to focus the energy of that celestial body, to fry the Du San, to fight them, them and the other sea dwellers. This gave them an uncommonly earlier understanding of such technology- this weapon was originally completely solar powered. It has been modified of course", he opened up a golden engraved latch and showed a intricate system of focusing lenses that could be spun around in their sockets (which he did, flicking one with the tip of his finger, gaining enough speed so it eventually rotated by itself, rapidly turning) and pivoted, in a beautiful carved wooden body. "When the pirates eventually adapted their ships for space flight, they replaced pieces of this weapon with a laser core, which despite being many thousands of years old, is still more powerful than most on the market today. Combine this with the unique design of their pistols and you have a brilliant weapon- not only strong, from the amazing focusing capacities, but one that can shoot around corners", he turned a couple lens more near the end of the barrel, demonstrating," split beams, shot directly up and down, backwards, and most of all, fool your enemies by pointing in one direction but firing in another..."

"I will sell it for no less than 400 credits."

Revan caught the creature's eye, his glasses momentarily opaquing, and began shuffling through credit cards, picking ones that he knew were loaded with the most amount of money-

"And that suit behind it. Is that there's too? Any good?"

"Indeed, the pirates of Gunbdroo had quite the reputation, even on a galactic scale- they raided many of the wealthiest hyper routes. All their equipment was, of course, equal to this epic task. " Mab stared at the outfit: fine burnished leather, brown and aged, in plates and sectioned pieces, inlaid with environmental shielding, made up off a mess of strips and small flexible parts, coming with two large wooden earrings, plumb bobs, diamond shaped, dull golden cuffs for hair, covered in symbols and pictograms, collapsible and expandable, goggles, as well as a strap holster for the ancient flintlock looking pistol.

Revan glanced at Mab; and sighed, "This seems more of a museum piece then a viable uniform."

"But I've always wanted to be a corsair Revan. I think I'll start now", she said mischievously, and snatched away one of the cards, a green one, and then rolled it between her fingers, flipping in over the knuckles.

"doo doot drwot" ,said T3-M4.

"I agree," replied Carth- ' I was actually going to say the same thing. It's a high end piece of equipment."

Revan remained impassive. "If you all think it will be of benefit to us."

Mab waved the card in front of thetrader, "This is loaded with 1,900 credits- will that be enough?"

The vender snatched it greedily, swiped it through a small slot on a light portable register on the table, in the same way and manner a merchant of old might run a paper bill past their nose smelling it, or bite a gold piece; he nodded, looked at them briefly, checking up, seeing if they still wanted it, were in agreement, then hit a few buttons. The imp then threw the blank card into a can, and smiled widely at them, showing yellow fangs.

* * *

They were on a upper-middle level platform, surrounded by curved elegant buildings, mostly built out of glass, the fronts of them rounded and slopping, these parts concrete, resembling smooth driveways, vertical, so couriers and businessmen with vehicular shoes, blasts coming out of the backs or on small motorized bikes, could race up the sides, and slip into tiny vents and entrances further up. Noblemen, visiting, wearing golden and red robes with crimson scarves, and lesser aristocrats both parted and gave way for the intimidating group (most of_ their_weapons were highly stylized and ceremonial pistols and daggers for rule and tradition bound duels, or small, following at a distance, floating bodyguards-they themselves were helpless, and frightened by Reven's, Carth's, and Mab's show of martial prowess) and shot scandalized, disgusted looks at Mission, one of the few aliens walking freely, head held high, uncowed in a group of human friends, not scurrying along the sides, or from room to room, but out in the open. The light was generally good here, at the moment, feeling like late day, and the architects and dwellers did with it what they could, making it seem like it was even brighter- it caused various artistic pieces of metal, made of silver, covered in gems and diamonds, protruding off the sides of building, or the ground, in thin beautiful branches, to glisten and sparkle, and the bright hull of the droids who unlike everyone else walked towards the group fearlessly, to shine. The robots-with flat stretched faces, teetering awkwardly their way, unbalanced, wobbling, switching favored sides every step- answered questions helpfully, and shouted out intriguing attention grabbing remarks, their bodies covered in bas relif designs of thin towers and building, sticking out slightly, lining their stomachs and sides, spires going up their cheeks, parts cut away, so the sculptures would project more, built into their stylized cone breasts, and famous skyscrapers making up their elaborate metallic headdresses, each droid representing a specific part of the city, a specific block of buildings, representing them and advertising their services.

They had to push aside one, and then walked under a gigantic public exhibition, a larger version of the trees they had seen before, looming over, it's branches, appearing like wood thickly dusted with snow, spreading above, glittering almost to blind them in some parts, the center jewel a large light blue stone- from the mineral tree numerous stands of bioluminescent material hung, pulsing an organic indigo, the color of jellyfish, that were covered and adorned in small ornamental orbs, decorative lanterns, and laboriously crafted boxes and other shapes, all of them glowing, each one a tiny piece of effort created by local artists- a handsome blond-haired, blue eyed noblemen (all of them were handsome, at least to the current day standards, at that level of wealth, due to genetic engineering, and fantastically advanced cosmetic surgery ) walked over, and grabbed a strand at the end by a red bulb, a ball made of tough paper, fire within, and pulled, turning around and tugging it behind his back, while a cranking sound began, an unwinding of a line- Mab searched and spotted large glass gears within a massive branch rotated and grinding. The noblemen continued walking forward, with slight effort, and then connected the end of the cord into a building; it arching down at an angle- then sat back at his chair, and continued reading his paper book, each one of the trinkets and baubles providing a little light. Noticing what had happened, a cafe owner wearing a gray toga walked out of his restaurant, and began dragging a couple of patio chairs and tables out, arranging them a fair distance from the nobleman-the patrons exited as well and began to sit down.

Getting past the tree, after a few more minutes of traveling on a moving floor, a railing running alongside them, they reached the edge of terrace, a building climbing upwards a few inches away from it, the door to this building directly lined up with the platform. It opened automatically and they walked through, taking a small step, into a carpeted waiting room. Mab waved dismissively to the human greeter there, then sidestepped through a door and took a right down the hallway. Revan knocked heavily on a wooden door and pushed it open- they entered a small cramped office, walls covered in tubes, filled with bubbling liquids and floating bodies, gigantic vials that shifted and changed positions, some sets of of them rotating clockwise in circular groups to reveal different individuals, or switching with each other singularly, moving into different spots, lifting above the ground by thin metallic arms, dark desks and tables covered as well with glass coffins. A tall man wearing a white smock pushed a button on the wall, and the entire left side of the room turned one more increment, showing a man, at the foremost, curled up fetally, a bubble wrapped around his lips, a series of them connecting/leading up to the top. He continued studying this person until he realized he was being watched, and turned to Mab and Carth, giving Mission a quick neutral glance. (Revan was slouching in the corner, minimizing his presence and size, hood pulled deeply over his face) The man had a large head, an intellectual egg shaped cranium, light brown skin pulled tightly on the bones, and thin black goatee on a sharp, cunning chin.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"Are you Zelka Forn?" asked Mab, extending a hand.

"Indeed I am", he said, and grasped it, giving it one shake. Sitting down, he pushed away, hand on the end, a glass container, rectangular on the bottom, sloped on the top, giving him a little space, and picked up a tiny box filled with green fluid, a severely deformed baby with a crushed head suspended within. He set it on the table, the area created, and jerked out the thick black cables connected from it to the ceiling, that entered into the gelatin exterior.

"I wish you would have gotten an appointment... What is your concern?" he said, occupied, busy, only giving them half his attention, as he moved the baby in its tank into a small sink like apparatus on the ground, transparent steaming liquid filling up around it, as it slowly submerged.

"You're a member of A.M.E, correct?" Mab said.

This piqued Zelka's attention, the first thing that had, and he looked at them. "Yes" he said hesitantly. He glanced at Mission once more, now focusing at her. "Is this about the girl? I assure you..." he paused, worried, then pushed a button on his personnel computer accessory, located on his wrist, and then listened, head cocked, as some data was relayed after a moment. He then stood up and stared down the hallway, squinting. Softly, confidentially. "... I can take care of her. Is there something the matter with her? Is that what this is about?"

"Not exactly, but it is related. You are good man, that's why we came to you."

"Tell us about the A.M.E", said Carth, trying to ease into it, make him feel comfortable.

"The A.M.E is a perfectly legal organization," he said, looking from the two cautiously, slowly, not completely trusting. "Although it is of course frowned at. We are medical association, a collection of activists, doctors, hospitals, representatives of extra-planet relief efforts, and alien professionals. Our goal and defined purpose to somehow stop this blight, this plague on Undercity."

"How much research have you done on this?"

"Me? Not much. I am not an experimental scientist. I have never even seen a Rakghoul in person. But still, when I can, when I have time, I contribute my little skill on the creation of an antidote. We pool our efforts, and work together as a community, sharing data. I myself, am by no means a leading member in this organization- I imagine you, girl" he said, pointing at Mission, "are only acquainted with me because I am the only widely known member in this neighbor."

"Yeah... and I heard you would help whoever came to your door...that you never turn anyone away."

He paused, silent, struggling for words, conflicted, "I don't know...if I...if I can let that spread ar-"

Revan, hunching, walked up to him, and spoke, waving one hand carefully, deliberately, as he did so. "But you do. And it seems you are busy man, that you have another project going here."

Zelka stared off into the distance, over Revan's shoulder, blinked once, and then focused again on Mab. He gazed her way, deciding something, and then turned without a word to the northern wall, placing his hand against it and pushing. The wall indented, and then slid aside. "A.M.E may not be against the law, but this certainly is. I am partially funded by the government- I take some of that money and put it towards... personal efforts. To make up for it, I charge people extra for healing supplies-"

As he spoke, Zelka entered and they followed into a second room, this one covered in life support systems too, of a different type, round malleable spheres, translucent and watery, attached to holders and grips like ripe grapes on a vine, scattered across the area haphazardly, messily, a gleaming operation table in the center of doctor walked up to a specific one, resting in the corner, leaning up against a wall, that of a small furry alien, most likely a child, and brushed the back of his hand against, saying faintly, thoughtfully , "They think I'm just greedy... _never knowing the truth,."_ He nodded his head forward and stood silent for a few more seconds, and then looked up at them. "This is an Aherilon girl. For some reason she was in the middle upper city, section nine, without a permit. She was beaten by a mob. The government wanted to execute her when she was under medical care, under the Alien Euthanization Act."

"Hyrule", whispered Carth.

"They were a mistake in filing, at the hospital, and she disappeared." He stared at Carth and Mab, looking intently at the expressions of horror on their faces, narrowed eyes never leaving them, waiting for what they were going to say.

"This is basically government approved xenocide!" said Carth."

"And worse, the Republic does almost nothing about it." said Zelka.

Revan shifted uncomfortably." It only got this bad in the last hundred years. And there have been wars, many of them, including this current one. But the Republic has tried, despite that. The explanation for all of this is that the Humans Rights Symposium has so much lobbying power and heft, representing one of the most populous species, which other organizations sadly lack. That is the only reason for this difference in treatment, why certain problems are not attended to. The Republic itself is not speciest."

Zelka, who now was looking directly at Revan, shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder", and then walked out of the room.

"We need to talk to a high member of the A.M.A, one who actually has a laboratory," said Mab.

"Why?"

Mab thought for a second, and stepped forward to say something, but Revan was ahead of her, and waved his hand once more. "We need to. We want to help you."

Zelka nodded, and pulled out a stylus, gesturing for a personal computer. Carth handed him his, and Zelka began jotting down some addresses on it, and opened up a GPS program, imputing a few locations. "The de facto leader of our organization has a massive properly, with plenty of space. Many of us believe he is reaching a breakthrough- he has been working tirelessly. He is probably the closet to a solution since the Sith- they were said to have been working on one when they first seized the planet, to facilitate easier exploration of the Undercity, but that endeavor has ended. But he is very secretive.... maybe you can get a look. His name is Serik Tab Palladarah, a Trandoshan doctor. You may have to take the Titan Train to get to where he lives- he is almost on the opposite side of the planet... Please go now. I don't want to make anyone suspicious. Unfortunately, they already are. I fear... I... Good luck."

They began to walk out, and Mab shot Revan an angry look. "Why did you just play with him like that? I had something to say. Something that would of actually convinced him."

"What could you have possibly said?"

She glared at him, and then stopped, turning to Zelka, grabbing both his hands, holding them to her chest in a heartfelt gesture, as he followed them to the door. "Zelka, I am reporter for Node Nine. That's why we talked. I will break the story. Hopefully we can get some official investigation going."

"Yes..," he nodded. "That's what I figured. There have others, searching. I haven't told all of them, everything. I hope you succeed."

As they left, Revan growled at her, "And what did that do? You still "tricked" him, as well as I did."

"It gave him hope."

He paused. "...There is no hope here."

* * *

They were in the outer, crowded edges of the Titan Train, a series of interior hallways and corridors near the perimeter, dark with a messy floor of straw and trash, smelling like a zoo, powerfully aromatic, mixed with the strong scents of perspiration and body odor. Through cracks in the wall, small places where the metal did not quite match up, they could see scenery move by, although most holes and views were actually blocked by people hanging on, pressed against tightly and gripping on any hold they could get, torsos obscuring- or if they were sitting in some ledge or on the roof, their dangling legs (wiggling carelessly, boyishly, like they were perfectly comfortable and at home) were the body parts that hid, partially eclipsing.

The blocky industrial setting, made up of massive mines and refineries, cruel holes in the earth, giant drills spinning, and huge smelting pots pouring rivers of lava that dripped and flowed in various channels and flumes suspended above the works, open slides of molten fire, was also occasionally removed up from their vision by avalanches, falling cascades of precious minerals or plastics, as behemoth metallic claws, pinchers, would extend from the train, without it stopping, and grab large containers, open topped boxes, carts and tip them over onto the roof, some of the materials clumsily bouncing over the edges and down the sides- the hanger-ons occasionally having to endure a rain of tumbling coal, uranium, diamond, tetrihorxicde, and hydroglisteren, cracking off their skulls, and hitting their limbs, unbalancing them and destroying their structures and small supports, and sending them wobbling on the ledges and footrests; letting go and giving up due to pain, the bruises and concussions, or getting knocked off most likely resulting in death; every five minutes a gauntlet to survive- the resources would drop into the wide pits on the top of the train, and slowly sink, their surfaces lowering, draining, as they funneled down into various tunnels and shafts, directing them to several parts of the superstructure- to its own transportable factories and plants.

The train was the size of a city, both in width and length, and completely self-sufficient- it traveled around the entire planet, gathering raw materials from yards and depots, and going in a simple loop, made and packaged them into purchasable objects, dropping them off a various supply stations and warehouses- it was a mythological figure, a bringer of presents that would arrive every few months, pulling cart after cart behind it filled with goods- not only goods, but the amazing workshops that made them. It bound and drew the whole planet, the whole society together, this ancient shipping system, it's mighty rails marking the the deeper limits of the Lower City, close to what was considered the start of the Underworld (in fact, during many of the wars, when the noblemen needed to suppress the commoners, the train bottom parts would be fitted with poisonous gas dispensers, and as it went, it would bring death, spreading a cloud behind it, fumes trailing in its wake- some say these weapons were still in place and tended to, along with rockets and biological warheads fitted in cannon slots lining the sides) and it was the most common way to travel long distances, both vertically and horizontally; by both catching a ride on it, jumping on and attempting to pull oneself in (the outer public layers were set aside exactly for this) and by using the multitude of elevators and subways systems, capable of going up and down, actually contained within (the train itself being slow moving, relentless and steady- easily outpaced), subways systems that blasted through stacks of gold, iron, and coal, or right above conveyer belt lines, where soot covered workers chained to machinery operated them tirelessly, illuminated by the fires of the furnaces within (a good number of the droids and AI having broken down long ago, so replaced by organics, as the computer cores were too deep within, and in some cases, completely inaccessible, the entrances of the inner sanctums sealed, no exit or entrance possible, all products and necessities lifted in and out through slots opening in the ceiling, or dispensers)

This thing was a powerhouse, not some tiny, advanced nano factory of goo, clean and pure white, were objects formed while floating in midair, in vacuums, but a massive, redundant, clanking symbol of primal, brute industrial strength, drive, and madness. Primitive and outdated, it still was an essential cog to in the order of most of the Middle and Lowercity, and by extension, the Upper City, (although they were not impressed by it at all) as they relied on those underneath them, in subtle, invisible ways.

It blared and whistled, and continued into a different distinct, one of shops and malls close by. Throughout all this, they were followed by a huge flock of crow creatures, _black smoke/sooty swarm,_ ruffled feathered birds that dropped slugs shaped like ears, twisted and curved, from incaves on their chests, symbiotic organisms attached to the animal by a thin, flesh colored string, that would land on the train, with a meaty smack, and consume metal and trash, or lower in its wake, slowly, inch by inch, hovering and dangling, and digest the refuse left behind in its inexorable drive- the ruins of the destroyed shanties and small annual villages that had sprung up to far in the center of the tracks, and thus couldn't evacuate in time, getting demolished-the avians like all wildlife still remaining on Taris, capable of eating and gaining energy from non organic materials, as anything else that had failed to evolve in that direction had died ages ago, no food possibly left for them, the nutrient storage tanks, and waste recyclables jealously guarded, sealed and impossible to get at with claws or snouts- the only things that had not chosen this route and survived the longest, relatively successfully, beyond this point of scarcity, where not the organic eaters who attempted to scavenge, small things like rats, or insects, since every conceivable editable thing was quickly snatched, sucked up, put in special drop points, required by law, and incorporated into one continuous system, used over and over again- but the bold animals, the predators, that went after the vulnerable, the living, the sentient. Of course, anything that hunted intelligent beings, citizens, was ruthlessly exterminated, but since this was literally the only conceivable option, besides random, extremely rare mutations changing the entire digestive system, or the entire species originally being this way, Taris offered up some amazing specimens, pinnacles of **predatoraism **, before they were successfully eliminated all together in various campaigns. Not parasites, although they were many down deep, as most medicines could take care of them, entire treatments in thin cheap syringes, but monsters, who could kill through sheer brute force or insane trickery.

- The Rhincore- a Under City dweller, a powerfully built creature with metallic plates of gray, interlocking and a legendary horn, who would charge like a living tank and ram into the bases of buildings, all the way at the forgotten beginnings, and fell them like a logger cutting down a mighty timber, so they would crash, and the beast could rote through the rubble and get at the people who had lived within(the lower levels abandoned and empty, with only the middle and top occupied, necessitating this drastic method; also the hedonists who dwelled in the air were a delightful, rich treat), with hide hard enough to survive skyscrapers toppling down directly on it- the Tairsan having to use tactical orbital lancers to kill those last ones existing- their skin that strong and tough. During the Great Hunt, the final rhincore, a legend, an special, unique member of the race, one with reflective plates, mirror like and shining, to bounce back the beams at its own celestial attackers, making it practically invulnerable and ancient, was said to have been killed by the Jedi Master Hephaestus Prawn and his stead Silphyinus-

-The Tunnel Spiders, The Weavers, gigantic arachnids, would create super sharp webs, thin and almost invisible like tripwires, inside subway tubes, and when a train would come rushing by, it's momentum and speed would push it through the blades, neatly dissecting it, and the people within, like an apple shoved through a slicer- both creatures mentioned so far somehow centered on breaking the tasty sentients out of their metal shells. Those who dwelled within The Titan Train, deep within, most never seeing anything outside of it, had their own contained society, separate from the rest of Taris, and in their strange, ignorant of the world religious system, believed that someday the train would reach the end of its line, the end of its route, that it was not circular, that it had a finish, and waiting there would be The Maker of Ends, a sentient godlike Weaver, and one final epic web, large enough to destroy the entire vehicle- that this was the apocalypse awaiting their insulated world.

-The strackgropes, clever slimes and jels, that appeared like glistening glass, like running metal, and would stick on the sides of Upper City buildings, looking like nothing more than part of a modern tower struck`by some light, and glittering- and entrap spire climbers, and similar travelers, get them stuck like flies on paper, and the struggles creating thin tendrils and strands of goo on limbs and face wretched away until they were pulled unmoving, flat against the wall through their own movements- although all were eliminated through viral cleansing, still in some parts of Taris, the bones of climbers still appeared on the sides of building- one could come across them occasionally stuck high up, along with their equipment and clothes, resting there.

-The Sloads of Densab, mythological birds with wingspans the size of houses and larger, strange wings that could expand and stretch to almost any needed length, slowly, accordion like, feathers unfolding. They hunted one specific prey, most likely imported along with them from their planet of origin, the Extradnins, tall, skinny, anxious creatures, nervously polite, good at math and logic, with a biological, instinctive fear of the dark- the sloads would stretch their wings above, and block out what little light there was, creating complete night- sometimes that would have to stretch only a little to cover a gap, sometimes, an entire skylight or building needed to be obscured. Then would then use this gloom to drive the fearful, losing logic and reason and all self restraint Extradnins deeper and deeper into the city, running wildly, lower and lower, swooping and driving them down staircases and tunnels, able to fold their wings around their bodies multiple times and squeeze through cracks, direct them until they reached, completely mad, a place utterly absent from light, a place they would stumble upon unthinkingly in their mad rush. Then after the Extradnins, trapped and isolated, deep within the earth, died from an attack on their hearts, the sloads would feast on their fear engorged organs, filled with vital chemicals.

-The drain worm, deceptively appearing like a sinkhole in a primitive, water based shower- this long worm with a round circular mouth filled with dots and holes and grates , would slither up the pipes, squeeze in perfectly and disguise itself, and rest there, waiting until someone entered in. They would then release spores and gradually, over time, these molds and funguses would do two things: give the victim some form of OCD, and also lower their sensation and perception of pain. The drain worm would fed on their scrubbed of flesh, flakes of skin vigorously washed away, and tender boiled meat, falling of the bone.

And these were only the creatures the Tarisan Government knew about, documented and had solid knowledge regarding - that they were concerned with- who knew what horrors dwell solely in the Undercity, preying and effecting only the Outcasts? Rumors and stories inched their way up, most of them likely nothing more than conjecture and fables, explorers went back and forth and boasted (although the ones who were telling the truth about their journeys normally kept mostly quite, and had haunted looks in their eyes) and occasionally, some ignorant dwellers of the underworld, hitting buttons and slapping things unreasonably, managed to gain access to popular networks, and videos of them screaming and rambling about demons and eldritch beings appeared in the nodes; finding an outlet to rant they would seize it and speak of the things that besieged and hunted them, and lurked at the corners of thought and vision (oftentimes the actual reason they entered such a location with access is because they were fleeing such things, and had run madly into what appeared to be a secure room, which wireless broadcast stations and other computer rooms normally were- so their eyes were madder than the usual insanity and unbalance of the beggars and downtrodden, and their faces slick were blood and fear) although more often that, (the whole proceeding being rare, all and all) the video being broadcast was of the very beings themselves, wreathed in shadow, faces held back in darkness, their tentacles playing with the computers, (which had peaked their curiosity and amusement on their endless slithering throughout the foundations of the world) staring directly into the camera and gurgling a sly greasy chuckle to the bewildered, frightened audience watching from the stars (the citizens of Taris managed to become apathetic about such things, and take it too in stride, while those picking up on the signals in space, of darkened rooms and vague twitching, but otherwise unmoving shapes, with intelligent eyes, breathing wetly, reacted with vague terror and were utterly unnerved, especially since most had no context to put in; just a random video, suddenly picked up in the noise, of a mysterious horror .)

The birds kept on squawking and trailing above, a dark gigantic cloud, thick and compact, ominous, and soon, the mountain SC. Denmongratus, their destination, reared up, obvious ahead- not in its height, even though it was the tallest in the solar system, (it was surpassed easily by manmade structures) but it bulky irregular width, and natural shape- this rock formation had over the millennium been hollowed out and built upon, and now it was a city in a shape of of mountain, only a little actual earth and stone actually left, the rest metal. Buildings covered the sides, carved in, and rested on top, circling around on the surface, up and down haphazardly, imperfect, uneven placement, and near the bottom, steaming vents, gigantic chimneys, appearing to be on the brink of toppling, made of jutting, badly placed bricks, and pipes, protruding out wildly, in contrasting directions, thin and bent quaintly, created a heavy fog. Directly down the middle, a large channel was cut, going up the side, made out of steel. It was for the Titan Train- the tracks would switch, and it would go up, stay there for a couple weeks, then roll back down, coast a few miles, and continue on once again, this time traveling around- a slight adjustment- the once natural, still remembered, still intact, wonder.

They reached the mountain, the spires coming out of it projecting clearly and completely discernable now- the train hit the start, and began to climb, very slowly, working its way up, gradually changing its angle, fitting smugly in the gap. It took a good hour, and then they stopped, parts of the train unfolding and opening up, buildings and giant mechs connecting to it, to begin the unloading and loading, and the switching of devices and personnel (in some better serviced parts). The wall in front of them fell open, and they walked out of it, onto the side of the channel, immediately lost in a tight, pressing crowd, holding onto each other's hands, along with thick ropes tied on their wrists. They walked upwards a little bit, through narrow alleyways between the close buildings, some of them just starting on the surface and continuing; towers, some of them reaching their peak at the start of it, thick crystals bursting out of the ground like pyramids points, and then occasionally built on and extended further, and others like little holes in the ground, digged in; both from above and below the expansion took place. They entered one of these, a short single story house (at least the part above ground) and walked forward through it, and others, connected by a set of doorways, down slightly, until they reached a subway train, sleek and metallic. They got in, and it went upwards, up slope, in some parts underground, others on the outside. The promontory got steeper and steeper and when they left the subway at the final stop, there were no more spires that began- the ground that they walked on was simply the outside and roofs of buildings, glass windows, curved and sky views.

It was noticeable that no towers whose base was on the mountainsides reached past its tip- although of course many that started on different ground did. Still the top of the ridge, level with the middle city and it's platforms, had a relatively clear area surrounding it- the very peak, encircled by tiny houses on the slope, was actually one entire property, unbound by towers until the mountainside dropped off completely in several gentle cliffs. The top was flat in most parts and gently rolling in others and the very edges of it were contained by a thick black fence with intricate points, sharp. Walking past the houses that reached a heavy smelt gate, and pushed it open, entering into a large (for Taris) gloomy yard, under a dark sky, covered by sparse, near death grass, yellow and ragged, and dominated by several gray stone balustrades, crumbling, along with pillars with carved circular tops, balls and orbs, and dry cracked fountains. In the center of this property was a manor, in the Post-Neo Gothic architectural design, rectangular, a large glass dome in middle of the roof, on top of it, and several twisting glass and stone towers coming off the sides, along with a various wild additions of wings and side houses, one which continued, winding, getting thinner and thinner, until it turned into a small, almost unnoticeable tunnel, bordered by columns, that connected to a business tower going right past the crag. In the middle of the house was red wooden doors, in two parts, with rings on them, which were open slightly, and stone stairs with thick railings leading away- slightly off to the side of this entrance was the Trandoshan, facing their way, an ancient rifle over his shoulder, holding a small rodent by its long stretchy legs in the other hand, wearing a fur coat.

"Ah, I've been expecting you."

* * *

As they continued walking forward, Mab took in more observable details of the eccentric, archaic environment; the loose lightly packed ground in several parts had deep holes in it, ringed with dust and piles of fine dirt, scattered about, making the lawn even more unhealthy and sick, powdery; halfway there there was a tree off to their side, leafless, gnarled and twisted in knotty, thick branches; it was the only living plant life besides moss and fungus she had seen on Taris, but even here it couldn't exist unprotected; Mab swore she saw a thin shimmer of a containment field around it; and when she got closer to the lizard man, she focused solely on him; he was tall and powerfully muscled, taller than any of them, and had an aged deeply wrinkled face, reptilian folds and creases mixed with the signs of the elderly. (Although one central furrow, she realized later, was actually a deep scar, an indent down his face which had turned white and slightly flaky, the color/consistency of bone dust) He was dressed in a thick, blood red turtleneck, parts of it sliced open, thin slits, and long strands, scarf like in some places, of gray wool inserted in and hanging out, like ribbons or ponchos, over shoulders and large areas or coming out from around his neck, cut into ruffles that went down to his belt, felt like, large, and fuzzy at the edges. The gun's barrel was pure silver, and the stock of it was wood, also engraved in some places with silver designs.

"My name is Professor Palladarah" he said, offering a large bulky hand- it was gloved in thin white cloth, but beneath it, even without sight, as she shook it, she knew it's strength and unwieldiness, the fact that it was large and unmade for fine manipulation; it was like shaking hands with a hulking monster; she felt unseen talons and claws. The creature backed up, the darkness of the cracked open doors behind him, silhouetting, all enveloping. "Please, come in", he said, the tongue flicking very obvious this time, creating an eerie scene ( He had a thin translator, a wrap around microphone, that began at the edge of his ear, protruding from his fluffy collar and ended right near the corner of his wide mouth- it was delicate and the center of it impressed, with golden artwork and runes in this deeper area- it transformed the hisses and spits still heard beneath his manufactured voice into a steady, smooth, intelligent and slightly smug tone, wise and amused in a knowing, uncomfortable way. )

Serik turned and began walking up the steps slowly, giving them a view of his rich, fine coat; the collar was ringed with puffy white fur; large and plush, encircling a lot of space, and then at the end of its reach began a weave of black glossy feathers, that extended until the small of his back. They followed him inside, into a large, badly lighted hall- with several balconies overhead at certain spots, tiled ground, and furniture covered in sheets. As he walked past what appeared to be a piano, he hit, without stopping, casually, a few keys that were uncovered by a sheet that was not perfectly placed on the instrument, that had been poorly thrown on, thus dropping off at a side, leaving parts of the ivory playing board visible- a loud screaming sound came from the organs, and then dropped off into a moan.

He picked one of the many doors and they entered a thin carpeted hallway, claustrophobic, cluttered, and restrictive, the angles wrong, the distance that went on for a long time into shadows at a slight, imperfectly tilt; the walls were peeling, the floor was uneven, and there were spider webs and the sounds of bugs, but it had a sort of decaying grandeur to it. He placed the tubular weasel like creature on the top of a trolley, it's plastic limbs going off in four different directions on a metal tray, and the cart moved off through a open side door down a second ghostly passage, it's wheels squeaking- as if the manor was haunted and this was another object possessed by a quiet, forlorn spirit- and glanced at them, large yellow eyes unblinking and scanning over each, except for Revan.

"I had warning that you were coming, from Zelka , but this is still a most fortunate surprise" he said, his voice high pitched, slightly creepy, with a hungry, almost predatorial tone to it; although there was no denying the refinement there as well. How much, first of all, was simply imagined or intuited from other sources, as when one listens it is not only the voice taken into account subconsciously but the body movements and facial expressions as well, or how much was simply manufactured/created was unknown- the entire thing could be fake, a careful modulation, or the translator could be advanced enough to respond directly to his personality, his style of speaking and inflections. There was a third option- there was nobility, but it was part of his ancestors and family, shared and contributed by all of them, not just his alone, singularly, the voice not entirely unique or tailored to him, as a whole- something they wanted to express and pass on, and demonstrate- the device could certainly be a heirloom- the voice inside a labor of love; it was certainly a beautiful piece of machinery.

"Indeed, I've been hoping for people like you to come into my life... Please, further and then down this way. I know what you seek. I have something to show you, and then perhaps, we can speak more"

They continued on, in the narrow hallway, which was slightly damp and musty, with a cold airless breeze.

"Do you have lights, Serik? How do you get around?" asked Carth, who could barely see his hand in front of his face, had just avoided bumping his head on a low overhang, and stubbed his toes several times on the intricate woodwork protruding off the walls.

Serik Tab Palladarah stopped, and paused, turning to him, momentarily silent, in a thoughtful manner. "I see by thermal vision ("Oh yeah, I should of realized that"). On my planet, our houses are open and warm, villas by the sea, and thus everything is illuminated. Here that is, of course, not possible, there is very little natural heat- so we took the warm that is created by houses, (simply by them existing) which moves around in them, without any prodding, in some patterned current, and seized control of it, manipulated the current into a fine tuned flow for our own uses. I navigate by an intricate system that was built into house, unique for us, taking advantage of what is already there in any normal dwelling of this size. In the walls are several shafts and vents- cold air runs through them, thus showing where the boundaries of this hall are."

This would explain the haunting draftiness of the manor, the varying gradients and sudden changes of temperature, thought Mab.

"The shafts are complex and interweave, and some draw warm air to separate places- like doors. They bring it from certain areas- creating a path way to follow- and dump it where it is needed, where finer distinctions are required- perhaps to see better, or perhaps because there is some danger that needs to be avoided." he said- Mab reached out and felt a door nearby; it was indeed warm to that touch. "It is the contrasts that create visibility, the difference between temperatures. It's quite a simple, primitive, yet ingenious solution. Let me... think... however"

He paused once again, finger to chin, and then turned abruptly, and walked off- they trailed behind. He went down a short dead end hallway, and opened up a wooden cupboard on the wall- a spider ran away in fright and he grabbed it suddenly. Holding it, he noticed Mission staring at him, felt her gaze on him in fear and fascination, eyes wide, wanting him to eat it, wanting to be grossed out. "Yes this I eat, basically. But just like you, I desire... quality." He put it down gently and it scurried away, and then reached deep within, handing them a few long candle wicks, messy, with globs of wax running down the sides, and molded on the bottom, along with matches. "Forgive me, I hope these do. I have not had ...human visitors for a while."

He pushed aside a fabric hanging and they went under it, into another long corridor. Continuing on, with small pools of gloomy, soft light surrounding their hands, Mab lost all sense of direction- going forward, looking at nothing in particular, eeriness all around, long stretching shadows with the candle as their epicenter, the rest soft watery darkness lined with pure black. Mission on the other hand, walked a little bit removed, hugging the wall, turned towards it, examining the tapestries and portraits; portraits of Serik's ancestors. These pictures (slightly blurry and smudged) were of respectable looking matrons and patriarchs - the first ones in the line elaborately dressed, with feathers, puffy silken hats and winding turbans, veils and headdresses, and multiple shawls of all colors, layer upon layer, thick strokes of colored charcoal: markings on cheeks and foreheads, and slowly decreased in majesty. The paint itself was strange; it appeared wet, thickly slathered on, and running in some parts.

"Is this blood?" asked Mission, holding a stained finger up. Serik's nostrils dilated and he nodded, "Yes. We often paint in blood." Many emotions can be absorbed into it, enriching the art. Each painting has blood from the person depicted, blood taken during different moments in their life, experiencing unique feelings." He leaned closer to one, and stared at it. "A panel beneath also heats it, keeping the blood...fresh...moist... it's almost like they're living- faint ghosts." He stroked one claw against the frame, staring intently and then looked up at them. "Honestly, I was surprised when I learned your art does not act in the same way. Many dimensions are missing from yours- _this _style here is the most accurate, genuine recreation possible."

Carth looked at the painting then at Serik, eyebrows raised and squashed together, fairly speechless, and since a response more eloquent seemed unlikely, the Trandoshan nodded and went forward, through another winding corridor, a small room with a grimy window, filled with dirty primitive devices they could not catch the purpose of, down another hallway, and then into a large spacious library- books lining the sides, of towering walls, tables and plush leather chairs scattering the expansive, comfortable room. They went down the middle, in between stacks of texts, primitive holotapes, receivers, (where the discs could be placed in and scenes created, some of them linked with modular devices to recreate smells and heat as well) and blocky translators for different types of recordings, styles of file and design, to change them into the common Republic form, each converter unique because many of the storage devices contained here were strange and idiosyncratic - the inputs slots of the converters all differently formed and bizarre, claws and pinchers, holes and squares, slots and vats, the list of outputs still needed to be altered into most efficient form , (a small compact bit of data small enough to fit in a wristcomp) gigantic, so haphazard stacks of them resting in nooks and crannies and shelves.

They walked past a long wooden table, lined with grainy cubes of all sizes- multileveled and tiered- each edge, each surface covered in tiny faceted bumps, nicked and spotted, some parts smooth and indented, a small sloped area, like the inside of a sea shell, with many tiny grains of sand like pebbles resting within, carefully arranged- some of the knobs spotted with red, blue, green, and black blood, meticulously or wildly stained- Mab glanced at one and swore she saw what resembled a screaming face formed out of bumps on the surface, (like a image on a planet seen through a telescope, mysterious and not completely obvious, not perfectly distinguishable for sure) with a bloody red maw, which ran in messy streaks over the side and down the square- it was brail taken to another level of complexity. The table ended and a small delicate writing desk appeared- one gigantic paper book was on it, covered in looping cursive, tightly cramped, in a bright red ink. Mission utterly curious and over her nervous reprehension, asked, entranced, enthusiastic, perversely enjoying the atmosphere. "Is that blood too?"

"Not exactly" said Serik, obviously enjoying himself as well, in his role as a host and teacher. He held up a long, sharp finger and began to lecture, "It's blood yes, but more than just. During the Alchemy Age, our scientists discovered a simple concoction, a recipe out of common materials, to create a chemical that would remain, indefinitely, at the temperature it was created at- before our books would fade within moments- so they literally had to be "hot off the press" for they'd be unintelligible seconds later. That's why we used To-Can-Toska style. This invention altered everything."

He held up a floppy, ratty paperback, the colorful papers thick and some stuck together with painting materials and opened it up- the section was scribbled in blue ink, messily, and then had red writing over it. "For contrast. Different inks different heats. A written language was then formalized. Eventually", he put the old book down and began flipping the thin light pages of the tome, flicking them one by one, and letting them fall through the air, "We mixed the chemical with blood and fluid to combine emotion with visibility- the splash of an Dunoor's life strength, that proud triumphant bird, for a vigorous duel, an epic soaring struggle- the blood of a Cafesk to give a feeling of hunted horror, a hint of an Aquanagrish for insane rage and all consuming anger. And the rest of galaxy does not understand why we consider The Ten Biographies to be the greatest literature in the galaxy bar none. '_The Sorrows of Gratherlix Prime_' '_The Endless Lusts of Marta Hunneebisbad'_- you could feel what they were experiencing emotionally at the very moment of their passionate writing! It would meld together into one beautiful vision!" His style of speaking was unnerving, especially on this topic, his eyes distressing wide, and his speech halting- and in the brief abrupt pauses, he would turn to one in the group, and stare at them, swiveling his head quickly, or even just look off into the distance-throughout all this his eyes ridges were raised and arched, his mouth with a slight smile on it (although that could just be the natural set of his vicious teeth)- all and all, it was like speaking with sophisticated, yet insane, sociopathic serial killer. "And at the end, they would rip themselves open, give it their all. Your human artists do not know the true meaning of, 'dying for ones art."'

Mission suddenly realized what the quill with several spikes and plastic tubes hanging off it did, how it functioned and put it down gingerly, wrinkling her button nose.

"Fascinating, yes?", he hissed, cocking his head to one side, lips pulled back and teeth bared in a large white square. He then walked to the side a little bit, and grabbed a long black cloak off the back of a chair-as he was pulling it on, he continued talking. "You are of course, welcome, if you stay long enough, to access this library. I don't know if you will appreciate the full impact of the books contained within... but..." He hands were busy with something on one of the shelves, his back to them, and then the wooden tower moved aside, revealing a small passageway. "My laboratory is on the basement levels- a few more minutes, no longer." They followed down, down a spiral staircase in a tight stone tower, the rock slick and wet, and as they walked, winding, Serik began to set up some probing questions. "Zelka told me you are journalists, researching the work on a cure. Yet, he didn't fail mention, as a side remark, that he found you "interesting". Special... That is intriguing to me. Why say it all, such a seemingly unimportant commentary? Something must have been...bothering him, observed below his conscious perception. You don't seem simply like reporters... under my observation you appear like mercenaries, or someone on a mission. The male, for certain, has military training. You", he stared at Mab, shaking a finger, "there's something odd about you. And besides that, there's something off about this situation entirely, something strange, something missing" he whispered intensely. "So what it you truly seek?"

Carth answered, "True we are not just looking for information, or even the cure. We need samples of the disease itself, in serum form- something that can actually turn people into rakghouls..."

"For what purpose?" he said, eyes fixated again, this time on Carth. "Assassination? Illegal research? Biological engineering?

'For good reasons" said Carth, not lowering his eyes. "We're with The Republic. I am a soldier... of the Senate and The Charter. That it what you saw." he replied, trying to make his voice earnest and steady.

"I will accept that for now. But I will require more information later."

Mab turned to Revan a little later- "Are you going to try to use The Force on him?

Revan said quietly, his lips barely moving "That may prove necessary. But I don't want to play my hand too soon. "

Mab nodded and looked away- the lower part of the staircase, near their legs, at a tilted angle, had now become glass, and through it, they looked down into someone else home: (although more accurately, it was a collection of houses, a mishmash of workshops) humans and aliens sat at metallic desks in a long line, using elaborate devices, while others stood up pounding mass hammers and aiming lasers- sparks and fumes were heavy. Mab continued watching the people until the stairs leveled out, and they were walking down another hallway- and she realized Carth and Serik were talking.

"Yes, these tunnels do take up most of the upper part of the mountain, mixing and going past other people's residences. All and all it's quite a large building. The basic part of this was built almost sixteen centuries ago - you see, the Palladarah house was a noble clan, the ruling class of this mountain. In the lower city, xenomorphs are allowed to command and assume stations of aristocracy. We are an ancient family."

"You're a noble for this whole mountain?"

"I think of myself like that yes- but we are a dying dynasty and our power waning. I believe I may... be the last... Ah, now here" he said, "here we are entering the northern wing, one of the second pieces to be added on. It's situated directly under the egg room and leads into the lower basement levels. It's basically a meeting room and crossroads of sorts, into differently parts of the house. You can notice some of the architectural choices made were influenced by Rainesgold- I don't know if you have heard his name, but he designed The Clockwork Cathedral in the Upper City District of Epiglson Rainbow, many years ago. And here in this alcove, it actually a Faskingin Sangeregandi Mufaksi piece- a famous Tradoshanian artist" he said proudly.

In a curving stone niche in the wall, a creature resembling a rabbit, with ragged fur and large drooping ears, hung suspended, eyes wide and terrified, yelping in pain- taunt wires dissected it, ripping it's rib cage open, and going through certain specifically chosen parts at numerous angles, all sides and positions, occasionally one of the cords vibrating with a musical twang, like a string instrument, and the creature shrieking more. A golden plague underneath, bright yellow letters shining and glowing, heat baking off the symbols, like light through letter shaped cracks, as they walked past, swirled and melted, turning first into human letters, then Twe'lik- in HWR it said, '_A Wire Choir_'. Carth's personnel belt computer beeped, realizing an open network, adaptive translator was near, projecting, and displayed its interpretation: '_A Bladework Sympathy- the eight minute lifespan of a Cafesk_ _filled with taunt pain."'_

Revan inhaled sharply, clenching his fists, and Serik continued, casually. "Yes, this is the best of the artists we could purchase. I actually hear that on Wearthtrad, in this very solar system, there's a Mufaski exhibit, with one of his most famous pieces '_A Great Blue Wetnorth, eaten alive_' To see that masterpiece." Mission looked at Mab with tears in her eyes, and Carth opened his mouth to say something, shocked, but Mab, trembling, shook her head and grabbed his arm.

"And here we are." He reached a small door, hit a few keys on a glowing pad, and then walked down a short set of wooden, creaking stairs, onto cement ground. On the side of the wall he began flicking levers up-causing sparks and groans, and a thrumming sound to begin; it didn't get brighter, but from giant lamps on the ceiling, rays of heat projected straight down- as they walked past slabs and counters, Mab noticed some of the beams hit, underneath them, small intricate objects, delicate, with many pieces, and each part glowed slightly differently- obviously these were things that required a lot of finesse and differentiation.

The walls and counters were lined with a multitude of devices, cluttered and crammed into every nook and cranny- all were wickedly sharp - every tool seemed twisted and pointy, covered in blades, and cruelly notched, unnecessarily brutal and frightening -and lining the cupboards, as they passed through room after room of small cramped storage areas were vials and jars, cloudy glass containers of hearts with scorpion tails on them and other impossible floating organs- along with sizzling potions and chemicals. Rusty chains were hanging everywhere, from the devices, attaching to them at their ends, (suspending some ominously) and by themselves, off metal circles on walls, and dangling from ceilings, each link shining a slightly different color, spikes and small curved claws coming off them, intricate, fiendish looking cages, of all different sizes hanging off others, shaped like birdcages made out of blade's. On the sides of tables, slabs, and tanks were tools of a special type: those with openings for the doctor's hands- robotic gloves and gauntlets and fully controlled mechanical arms for fine manipulation: the arms redundantly large, attaching directly to the shoulder, hulking, like some extended, grasping mutation of a limb, monstrous, the grips, shifts, and buttons big and clumsy, tipped with lasers, scalpels, pinchers, and claws.

They reached what appeared to be the largest room, a dripping dungeon. "Do you treat people here?'

"Yes... the villagers...when they're brave enough to come up that is." he said, chuckling. "But mostly I experiment, trying to solve the riddles and problems that concern the poor, the diseases that spring up randomly every once in a while, that can't simply be eliminated through Boast Syringes, mutations- the Rotgut, the Darktick Harvest, The Genetic Rape, the Madness of District 27... And of course, the Ragkoul plague. The Blight... what I believe may become my life's work. There is it..."

They were the the middle of the dark room, near a collection of metallic slabs, lined with tools and more heats lamps, coils of chains and ropes with hooks wrapped up on the ground. "Come closer," he said quietly, flicking more lamps on, "Bring you candles closer." Mab briefly noticed, before the horror began, that Serik was holding a chain in his hands- then he dropped it slightly, letting it run and a Rakghoul lowered quickly, falling from the ceiling- a birdcage with a open door dangling above it and to the right, chains piecing it's body, it's struggles tangling and spinning it, like a marionette of knives- Carth and Mission screamed, and Mab's baton was in her hands, cracking electricity, sharpening to a point, before she could even think. The rakghoul, bloodied and starved, was over their heads, twisting and fighting against the chains- now spread-eagled and rocking and lurking its emancipated body forward, spraying spittle at them. It had gray, gray like blind fish in sightless caves, skin, taut and slimy, and was thin and skeletal, long limbed, with a wide mouth, drooling. It hissed and shrieked, and spun some more, its arm getting pulled behind its leg, more tears appearing on its already ripped body- covered in bright cuts and scars and bruises.

"How long have you had this thing?" asked Carth, sounding sick to his stomach.

"Over a year. I sent mercenaries into the Undercity to try to capture some. This is the only one that's been brought back successfully, for the last two and half years. It is my only one to study. I have not of yet-"

'Why haven't you been using anesthetic on it," said Revan, standing tall.

"Who are you"? asked Serik, confused and lost-- Mab sensed something had gone wrong.

"Why haven't you been using anesthetics on it?" Revan repeated, utterly horrified.

"You're torturing it! For a whole year?!" shrieked Mab.

"Torturing it? Pain is part of life..." he replied bewildered, distracted. "_Who are you_?" he questioned, almost dreamily, a hint of alarm, leaning forward in disorientation.

Revan threw back his cloak, his face wrathful, no longer able to sit by and listen to Serik- Serik looked at him in shock and fear, stumbled backwards, and immediately dropped to his knee "I don't know! Master Jedi!" dropping the chain completely on accident- the rakgoul hit the slab on its side and rolled off, onto the ground in a tangle, laying turned briefly-Mission threw herself backwards, and fell over- the rakghoul clawed forward out of its resting position, spitting, and something got jerked on one of the chains, and a thick muzzle, two square pieces of spiked metal on each side of the face, swung closed swiftly, slamming against the skin and locking together, blood oozing out of the mask and down the sides, causing it to howl and collapse.

Revan glanced at this, his brow furrowing even more, and walked towards Serik, thunderous, his anger palatably emanating off of him. "If pain is part of life" he spat, "why do you care about helping those in the mountain?"

Serik, still kneeling, sputtered, avoiding eye contact, quickly talking, "They are my charges. I am a member of the master race, and they of the slave! This is the philosophy of the great... I go out and define their world, form it, rule it, categorize it, give it meaning. They are part of me. That is the natural order! I am responsible for them." He now looked up at Revan, pleading with his eyes. "Pain is part of life, just like everything else, but they aren't living. They are prisoners. I hope to remove each piece of the problem as much as I can, to help them be free. It is my duty. "

Serik now stood- "I did not know you were a Jedi, my superior, _my _dominant" he said, head bowed. "Please let us go upstairs and speak some more. I will prepare dinner; I sense you are all hungry. And we can speak more."

Revan stared at him imperiously. "Very well"

**----------------**

They walked through a predominately wooden kitchen, cluttered, as was the aesthetic of everything in the house, but here in a more appealing, enticing way, with large windows on one side and part of the roof, dusty and covered with vines- it was the most homily part of the entire manor, charming in its own grimy, forgotten way. Mab peered through the obscured panes of glass- rubbing some gray dirt aside with her sleeve pulled over the bottom part of her palm- the room was bordered by a large intricate greenhouse, which shared the wall. The kitchen was long, yet seemed smaller because of the many counters until they reached the end of the room, where there was more space and a heavy, practical table rested, a door a few feet away.

"Now please just sit down, and don't lift a finger, I'll prepare a hearty meal for you" he said genially, back in his element, more composed. He opened the door, to a dark pantry, but Mission stood up. "Can I come with actually?"

"I like to see too" said Mab.

"Why certainly."

They entered in-the pantry was dark, with brown earthy walls, (there was a cloth bin, the fabric made out of black and gold thread, embroidery, on a set of wheels, with a bar in front of it, and Serik began pushing it slowly) and continued on that way, past drawer and cupboard after cupboard, along with tubs and containers, before taking a right, and entering into the tropical, muggy greenhouse. The place was filled with plant life of all sorts, and fake habitats and ledges- immediately as they entered, the multitude of animals, most plain, boring looking, and dull colored, fled, some through the shielding of the exterior, going into multiple holes in the ground and walls, small portals, or hiding and rustling away. "This is my garden. I cultivate food here."

"Imported?"

"Indeed. Some very simple to raise creatures, the basic stable of my diet. The holes outside are also part of this endeavor, colonies for togedogs. My parents brought these animals over and gave them free reign on the property, to establish colonies in the house and outside it, whatever they wish- seeding the land in a way, to use a term from your form of archetypal agriculture. The manor is filled with animal life of all sorts, but concentrated here. "

"Why don't you just keep them all in here?" asked Mission.

"Yeah, yeah really. And speaking of that, why have the green house permeable? This whole thing kind of- I don't know, it doesn't make sense that you just let them run free. Aren't they harder to capture and look after then?"

"Caging animals is immoral" he said matter of factly. "And even the tricks I do employ, I feel guilty about. I am straddling a very fine line (I am sure I would be looked at unfavorably, by fellow transodans) but I must for my survival- I have created an excellent environment, the best around- where else will they go? They come back eventually. I don't force them to stay here but it's such a small distinction- even this I feel is wrong. It's unpleasant necessity however... I wish they had their absolute freedom and could roam whenever they willed as I hunted, as much as they do."

"What about that Cafesk! You don't feel bad about that, do you?" asked Mab, hands on hips.

"Everything in permissible in art. Besides, the sin of imprisonment inflicted on it only lasts for seven minutes before it is destroyed and a new one grown from a cloned embryo." Reaching into an upright cylinder, waist height, near the door, Serik produced a small pistol, and a club. He removed his gloves and cloak, revealing three fingered hands, red and scaly, and slipped them in his pocket, the ends hanging out. As he aimed his gun, Mab realized there was an old worn chair in the middle of the area, surrounded by grass and bushes, and a few footholds on a tree. "Ah there's one" he said, and shot an arch of cracking electricity, hitting a mammal and knocking it out of a nest of vines. It fell to the ground twitching and seizuring, and Serik picked it up, throwing it into the cart one handed. He did this to two more animals: some kind of frog, attempting to blend in on a a branch, and a fat puff of fuzz, with a long thinproboscis and several heads, cuddled up in a ball, underneath a overhanging stone and then walked over to the wall and opened a computer terminal. (The screen wasn't even holographic; the wall slid open, revealing glass and gel.) Mab peered over his shoulder- a program showed two visions; one of the house on the side, in a blue real time sketch, and the other in first person view, speeding through vents and shafts, both of them matched up through smaller windows, connecting dots, and glowing lines- a small hamster like creature was spotted, nibbling and Serik pushed a large red button- the compact bundle of fur and warm flesh popped out of the wall moment later through a small pneumatic tube, clear plastic, with a audible sucking pop, and Serik grabbed it, impaling a claw through it's back, severing it's spine and paralyzing it.

"This" he said, gesturing vaguely to the entire room "is what I eat on a daily basis. It's nothing special and all of it rather bland actually. But it serves well. My father came up with this system, when we could no longer afford to special order food every month, so these will only be the foundation of our meal, not the finer points. I wish to treat you to something nice.

"That's really not necessary."

"No I insist. It's not often I get guests."

He walked over to the bin, throwing the final catch into the bin, onto the pile, making a meaty thud, and pushed it forward, back the way they came out of the greenhouse, down a slope, to another cellar door. He pushed it open, and they entered into a colder room- Serik immediately began shivering and convulsing, but he ignored it and walked forward. The room was lined with slots, blue boxes, the front faces(the only parts visible) filled with ice, often times feet, or talon, or claws seen, other parts hinted at through the vaguely transparent freeze. He walked past a few rows, talking. "We store our finest animals down" ("All cryogenically frozen of course, not having to endure the torture of boredom and under stimulus" he said, nodding towards Mab, still not quite understanding actually what she was a concerned about.")

"The Palladarahs used to eat these every day, these delicacies. Shipment after shipment would come, never stopping. Legends say we even use to fly off to the hunting grounds occasionally, on other planets. Now these are reversed for special occasions, and there are only a few left. I myself, wouldn't waste one on me but I- ah here. A sinclair, captured during the hunt of 67. Good year, fierce beasts. Something went wild and wrong in their herd. They were vicious." He smiled widely at this. "Ah, my father purchased this- I've been saving it for almost twenty years- a Dunoor, captured in the heat of mating." He pushed a button, and it slide out, revealing a rectangular slab, a cryogenic hold. He picked it up, and it began to thaw and melt slowly, and he placed it in the bin. "A Lornado from Grasp, paid a future for that-my last jumpernix, can you believe it. Oh and here.... this will definitely go good with the bumpnix I have." He opened up another slab, and put it in-"A female Vox, to finish the whole thing thing off"- and then began to return, the last one tucked under his arm, dripping fluid. "Some fine dining in store today."

They entered back into the kitchen and Seirk immediately set to work, organizing, pulling from the bin the captured animals (along with the creature from the trolley, which ended up here) and pining them on boards of wood he pulled from a rack. He placed them spread-eagled, needles through limbs at the four corners, and then set them off to side, arranging the frozen slabs. He began grabbing for various implements and placing them in strategic spots- reached for a large bowel form an overhead shrunk. "Now I am thinking of boiling the dozeh or maybe melding it with the terinkis, attaching their circular systems together, so what-"

"I'm really not hungry" said Carth, anticipating that "boiling" meant boiling alive, and shaking his head in disgust at the rest.

"Caaarth" said Mab and he shot her an angry, frustrated look.

"I'll eat something."

Carth raised his eyebrows at Mission

Mission said, a little defensively, "I haven't had real food for a while. It's been all nutrient paste and pills-"

"If you want something like meat" said Revean "it can be created with killing an animal. Anything is possible."

"Ah but it lacks the intensity. The vibrancy..." he leaned over the mammal, on the board, and opened up a small cupboard, pulling out a few syringes, injecting it with them. He paused, making a decision, then moved busily, doing many things at once, in motion, creating a meal, pulling more plastic, endermal pen style syringes from a small wooden holder on the counter (it resembled a primitive knife rack- with many tiny pinprick holes instead of slots, the syringes front first)- the spices of his people. He finished, and then slid the creature across to Mission, still on its wooden board, and handed her to eating utensils, large and bulky, oversized knives with buttons on them and bulky handles. "Now I understand your people can't just rip it open with your hands, or bite into it, so hold the button down. It will sear through bone and muscles easily. That full set was actually created by my great great uncle, as the head of district twenty seven, during that time, a human, often was a guest here."

The creature, throughout all this, struggled on the board, its chest pounding and heaving, its eyes wide, flicking back and forth, but unfocused, pupils dilated, its stomach flush blue, a mating signal. "It's still alive. I can't eat something that's alive... I can't kill something like that "said Mission, in a high pitched, panicked voice, reaching a squeak on the last part.

Serik stared at her for a moment, looking disappointed, then pulled the knife out of her hand silently, and stabbed the creature through the throat, smoothly decapitating it, a small gap between its head and the rest of the body. He then handed it back to her. Mission stared at it, looking down, lip curled. "I can't eat meat that's not like, cooked, right? I don't know..."

"Oh yes I almost forget" said Serik, and pulled one final syringe out of its slot, and stabbed the animal. "Now it should be fine. Quickly, before it's loses its warmth and fear."

Mission looked up at him, and nodded, hesitantly, and then angled the knives over the animal, the blades buzzing and vibrating, coming in from different directions, her elbows awkwardly extended out to the sides, far away from her body, tentatively poking and cutting it, never quite actually accomplishing anything.

"I'll take some t-" said Mab, but she was cut off- there was a crackling, rending sound, and Mission pulled her knife away immediately from the meat, as if she had be burned- she seemed to be struggling, unable or unwilling to dissect it- Serik moved in and helped her once again, holding on her hands and guiding them, setting them up in the right position. "You must peel away the fur, and get at the heart, through the right rib cage" he said.

"I'll have one too. ' said Mab and shot a look at Carth. "Don't you think you should try some?"

"It's kind of... look if I wanted meat I'd just make some. This all seems unnecessary-"

"It's the thought that counts."

"But it's so wrong. I've never caused the death of an animal in my entire life."

"Me either Carth... But just this once."

"Ok... something small. But don't inject it or torture it, and I want it dead."

"Oh yeah me too."

Revan stared at both of them, irritated, and leaned back, crossing his long legs.

"Excellent. I think I have a grasp on your preferences, from watching Mission. Let's see if I can make this more to your liking. "said Serik and turned back to his set up workstation, once again in a frenzy of activity, reaching and grasping. He killed the animals right away, with a blow to the head with a club (although he was going to lower the animal, by its tail, headfirst into a hand cranked grinder, cruel and designed for maximum pain, before Carth stood up and said "okay!" loudly ) and then arranged them, quickly, urgently, slicing open bodies parts, skinning them ,and stacking limbs in a perfectly designed pile of meat, while removing certain bones and organs. As he went on he talked about the mission and the reason they were here, mixed in with sad, gently reproachfulinterjections about what they were missing out on (You should really let me inject some of those flavorings. Lust, fear, insanity, something to give it a little zest. It's going to be so bland-

"Well we have tastebuds, Serik"

"Ah yes, I didn't even think of that. That's true, I've dissected humans before and examined their tongues, I should have remembered")

"Now, I can't find a way to transfer the rakgoul disease, without just having it bite you" he said, back still turned to them, working with a thin blade on something's inside, cutting, digging, and slicing vigorously, burrowing in a particular fashion, systematic, precise. "I haven't managed to isolate the processes that transmit it. But I am close. Four weeks at the most, and then I can duplicate it and send the serum around the world. It will be a new age, a benchmark"

"We don't have that amount of time, Serik" chided Revan, drawling parts out.

"Ah yes. The Sith. You think they will find you by then? You know interestingly enough when the Sith first landed here, I was ready to offer my full support. I wholeheartedly agree with their ideas. But these are not true Sith. That was easily apparent from the very beginning. True Sith hold their lives in much higher esteem."

Revan made a sound of disgust, and glared at Serik with open dislike on his face.

"Now I think the best option, for all of us, would be to actually physically enter the Undercity, and I would set up some sort of research lab. Set up a camp. Within the previously mentioned time, I believe with all the resources at my disposal, and your protection I could isolate the disease, not only that, but find a cure! Unlimited rakghouls (I only have one now, if you recall) unlimited test subjects, all this would go a long way. All my theories are in place, I just have to test them!"

"So we will have to go with you and enter the Undercity. We thought it might end up like that" said Revan.

"How are we going to get down there? That journey itself might take weeks." asked Mab.

"And here we are" said Serik, turning around and placing the plates in front of Carth and Revan, a medley of ruined flesh piled on top of each other and mixed together in a bloody mess.

Serik reached up again and pulled out of a gigantic golden plate, fine metal, thinly pounded, artistically made, figures around the sides, with tiny nails and poles coming off it, and put it in front of Revan. "And for you, the Dunoor", he placed the bird on the plate, it's chest getting impaled on the spikes, and then wrapped many little ropes (attracted to the poles ) around it's feathers and (4) wings, keeping it against the surface, tieing it down "I assume since you are their leader, you will eat it living and fresh. That's your right."

Revan stared at Serik. "You don't understand us" he said, waving one hand over the bird, killing it instantly.

"Mercy?" said Serikl, intrigued. He sat down and put a hand on his chin, "Fascinating. You are correct, I don't. I hope someday I will however" he said, smiling and bowing his head forward.

"Me too" said Mab, trying to smile kindly his way- it was a little strained.

"That's a good toast" nodded Mission."Good thing to say in a meal with a bunch of mixed individuals. You know, to understanding." she said, unconfidently looking around at everyone, like she did whenever she said something to a group- unsurely checking their reactions, head low and eyes occasionally darting to the ground.

"A toast?"

"Like a oath. A positive oath said before a meal. Normally with a drink in hand. The Vulkars use to do it all the time before battles, like there were some warrior kings in a feast hall or something. Maybe it's du-"

"I think I have just the thing actually."

He snapped his fingers and walked over to another cupboard. "Some refreshments", he said, pulling out a bottle of red liquid. "Bunsack blood. It's only lukewarm, but that doesn't seem to concern you. And it's very pungent, so I think that will balance out its lack of heat, in my case." He set down five glasses, and poured them each a cupful, before sitting down himself, and sipping from a delicate glass chalice. Mab drank some, a tiny gulp- it was bitter and taste intensely of iron. "Intoxicating" said Serik happily, as a complement, sloshing the blood around in his glass. They ate in silence for few seconds, forcing down the steaming meat, (to her credit, Mab's gorge only rose once) "Do you taste the various emotions, Mission, "Serik said, pointing at her meal. "The others choose not to have them; perhaps you can offer a comparison. Does the fear stand out to you?"

"No... sorry" said Mission, her mouth full, "But it's interesting. I've never even had meat before. I don't even know if I_ can_ eat meat... Twe'liks mostly just live on moss"

"Yes, I have heard of that curious custom. Humans as well can subside on foods that have never walked and fought. It's seems completely impossible. "

"You can't?"

**"We can eat meat, brain dead meat, meat with no soul... but it makes for a vitality less existence. My nephew had to live like this for a while, and he was weak, anemic.... he died shortly afterwards, never recovering."**

Carth stared at his dish and then looked up at Serik "So we have to go into the Undercity."

Serik didn't glance up at them, he was eating his own meal, a small (his appetite waning over the years) rodent over a plate- rotating it around quickly, dissecting and biting into it, rapidly, riping it open, without much mess. "Yes that seems to be the only way. I have prepared however. Yes... I do think it impossible, to escape without transforming yourselves- the outer atmosphere is too thick with sensors. Ironically, these sensors were created by the Tarisan government, a further part of their specism, to control the flow and ebb of other races. It has a certain poetic justice that they shall prove to be their downfall, if we are not careful."

"Justice...? That all lifeforms on this planet will be extinguished?" said Revan, angrily.

"That is why it is only poetic justice, not actual." he retorted coolly- he had regained his bearings and could face Revan face on.

"Well how are we going to get down there?" asked Carth, breaking Serik's gaze at Revan.

"That has been planned for. We get back on the train, and then take one of the inner subs downward, reaching the bottom, and climbing along the rails. There will be a building we can hit, and then scale down. WM-33 will help us if needed. I am not averse to using him for some...urban reconstructing, if it comes to that. Our mission is too important."

"That...will not be necessary." said Serik.

--------------

They stood outside again, on a small raised mound, Serik in front of them, facing out. He had switched cloths, wearing a tight, button down white lab coat, (a small stain of blood on the otherwise immaculate material) the bottom ending in flaps by his legs (it forked right at his wait). Over this was a gray poncho, covering his shoulders, and a long black cape that billowed to the side in the wind. Besides the slight breeze, there was additional liveliness in the air; it contained a crackling expectancy, heavy and tense.

Carth walked up to Serik, at his arm, "So, are going to tell us know? What do you have mind" glancing over at him questioningly, his bangs and other random strands of his auburn hair tussled and played with.

Serik cut a impressive silhouette, leaning on his staff, (which he grabbed after dinner, both the meal and the walking done this day wearing him out and tiring him- although Mab imaged it being mostly the meal... it seemed very reptilian and fitting, to be sleepy and languid after devouring some creature: the bump of one animal still in his throat as he had swallowed it whole, resembling an Adam's apple, a monstrous parody of something human and familiar) the gusts blowing out the ragged ends of his pined mantle- Revan, now standing next to him as well, the three men in a row, equally mysterious and forbidding.

Mab stopped staring at the back of them and joined them, looking directly at Revan's face, gauging his disposition- a habit she had picked up quickly; scrutinizing closely his features and expressions without trying to hide it or conceal the action, without subterfuge- a surprising intimate and familiar custom given the fact that they barely knew each other, (this is often what she did instead of trying to ask questions) one that did away with personnel space and politeness-as she inched up near while performing it, drifting without noticing- one that he was beginning to respond to, simply by explaining himself, what he was feeling, what was on his mind, when he noticed her attention and close quartered examination of him-although he was still detached and isolated, and often these replies were curt and dry. Mab assessed him easily, following his view; he was gazing off into the distant, focused, must likely at the strange storm that was developing, in between building, and heading their way.

"Have you heard... of the Endless Stairs?"

Mission piped up, wrapping her arms around each other on her chest, and rubbing the fleshy part of them, the opposite sides of her biceps, nervously, "Yeah, there're these ancient towers said to be scattered across the world, and in each one runs a secret, unbroken staircase that leads all the way to the surface of the planet... and some go further."

"You speak of Gothgorerath. But do not fear, The Dark Journey is not the one I reference." He pointed ahead, pointed to the building which the exterior hallway connected to, a building which rose a few more yards above and then stopped with a curving peak, the entire thing rounded and sloping, shaped like an obelisk. "Minegral Habduel. (It's age and importance signified by the fact that unlike most areas and buildings on Taris it was not referred to by a string of letters, a purely mathematical system, but rather a bona fide name) It was here before my family. It is the reason why we built the manor. The staircase is hidden in the eastern corner of the building, separated by thick walls, and other...more....esoteric protections. Few know it is there. Some work right next to it. Can you image? The Palladarah family owns half of one floor of the entire building, and the tunnel leads directly through it to an opening to the contained vestibule."

"We will walk the staircase? This legendary staircase. Walk till we are weary and bleeding, starving and mad? Wind down and down, miles of stone and metal steps, curving over and over again. That idea-" began Revan. The electrical discharge grew closer, rolling and billowing gloomily, some sort of disturbance, a bundle of energy, clouds, and wisps of chemical gasps, glowing ominously odd colors- bolts flew out of it, sticking the sides of buildings, crackling and sparking- a random turret, shabbily built off one building, exploded into flames.

"There is shaft. We will fall-" lighting struck near the manor- it was stopped by a shield- the sound was enormous, blotting out everything else, crashing thunderously, and Serik face was briefly illuminated, everything white and bright in a flash of contrast before fading back into darkness. The unnatural tempest continued growing and spreading, molding to the bubble of the shielding, growing between the channels of skyscraper, like some kind of warfare gas filling trenches and expanding and inching- and when the lighting crashed, immediately, all out of once, a downpour began, buckets falling, quickly, and overwhelming. They ran down the sides of the dome, sizzling, and began hitting the houses of them mountain, hissing and acidicitally eating through it. Soon it would run in streams, warping and burning through everything in its path.

"We we fall. (squinting his eyes at the storm) We will fall for a day and night... into darkness."

* * *

They were in a dark, poorly illuminated room under the main dome hall, the two droids there, having entered in through the side of the mountain (a secret gate, a hidden chasm in the rock, a lifting portcullis that lead into a large open space, a garage) and from there went through a series of large arched hallways and quarters with vaulted ceilings until reaching this current area- the succession of passages resembling catacombs in the foundations of the manor. WM-33, who had gone with them on the train by attaching to the side of one of the carts, and folding up into a inconspicuous red box, had then removed itself, and driven up the side of the SC. Denmongratus, lost in a crowd of newly departing vehicles, all busily expanding out in multiple directions, the train's docking signifying the beginning of a flurry of activity- WM-33 able to twist and wrench his body into a number of shapes (although the purpose of this was not originally for disguise, WM being a tool of shock and awe, but convenience and tactical benefits of different transformations and configurations)

The walls were lined with boxes and racks of relatively advanced equipment and seven tall cabinets , divided in six compartments each, opened up at the press of Serik's finger on a identatable, circular piece of metal, each section sliding out to reveal a block of grayish form, in which a piece of armor rested, in a mold. The armor was black, and each part had numerous protrusions, not quite spike like, but long and thin, coming off, as well as medium sized circles, projecting on various areas on the torso, resembling seals and lids. Serik explained and then they began putting it on, part by part, the whole outfit in the end very insectoid, like some bony exoskeleton-

"In here are environmental suits- the area we are dropping into is quite hot. Not hot enough to harm me, but you will find yourselves becoming dehydrated and delirious after a few hours. However, I will take with me just in case- if we happen to have to go to other areas, either more extreme in that direction or colder... "

At this point he began handing them out, showing how they were tightened and put on- as he came to Revan, who stood by the last cabinet, the Jedi master waved a hand, "I do not require one."

'Are you sure?" said Serik.

"I don't wish to sacrifice my mobility. But like you, I will take it with me, as a precaution..." WM-33 moved and picked up the dresser, putting it in his back. Revan said this very distractedly, and soon afterwards,"So this is going according to _some_ plan? Why are you so prepared?"

"Indeed, everything is in place... I have been sending mercenaries down for quite some time. Sometimes they needed certain equipment provided to them. But yes, I have waiting for opportunity like this. My entire adulthood I have wished to go into the Underworld, I just had to put off until I could find people to trust my life with. It was inevitable that the crew would present it eventually; I just had to bid my time. And as I waited, I prepared, so everything would be ready and perfect. And you proved yourself right away. That was my hope. Both our paths will have crossed for the better though, to our mutual benefit, you will see." Serik glanced at WM-33. "That droid will be perfect for carrying all my medical equipment. I presume there's space? Otherwise the amount I need to bring with me will become a major inconvenience "

"Yes" said Revan, staring at Serik, investigating him, still trying to get a gripe on him "You can go and prepare."

Serik walked off, and Revan sat on a smaller cabinet, folding his leg over, resting his boot on his thigh. After a few moments of silence, he said "Can we trust him?"

Carth looked up in surprise, but Mab, who had been expecting it and waiting for Revan to speak said "We don't have choice, do we?"

"Oh, we have choice. A choice if we can trust him or not. We may not have a choice to not go with him and not have him near to us, but we have choice to always suspect him and watch out backs around him. That-vigilance- is in our complete control."

"He doesn't seem so bad" said Mission timidly.

"He doesn't seem so bad? You really don't understand do you? Everything that bothered us here, and seemed inherently wrong, he knew. He knew it was disturbing. Trandoshanians are class four empaths, they sense emotions through smells, he remarked on this frequently- that means they are actually better at picking up on those things, the slights, the awkward strange moments, the misunderstandings, then humans. When you combine that ability with language, each feeling paired with a phrase and word, they tend to learn the idioms and dialects faster than most. They make better diplomats and translators, if they choose to use their skills, and could come understand a culture quite swiftly, and work to alleviate the excepted outrage and disgust that come naturally with contact between two species. Yet he still persisted. Feeding on us. Yes, I bet he was mightily disappointed that we didn't completely lose it and recoil in horror. Think of the medical tools. They are the perfect example. All those spikes, all those blades. They are made to look intentionally fearsome. Why? He doesn't want to kill anyone- but while operating on them, he wants to be afraid, to be in constant terror, to be tranquillized and fall into unconscious not knowing if they're going to wake up or not, or open their eyes to see their flesh being feasted on right in front of them. He lives off it. It brings in enjoyment- like... like skimming cream off the top milk- Something he sees as completely harmfulness. That's the only true reason he wants to keep these people alive- they're kine, to frighten and torture up here in his gothic castle- they live in holy terror on him down in them mountain. The art, the traditions, the small exactly placed blood stain, everything perfectly designed to get a reaction. We were entertaining him. How's that for a host?

...This place...is immersed in the Dark Side."

"That doesn't make sense. To be accepted into The Republic, the race must in some shape, or form, affirm as its basic principle, through its actions and its society, the first tenet of The Charter: that all life is sacred. Everyone knows that. How can this so called race of maniac's then-

"Oh, they value life." he said bitterly. "Yes. Without life there'd be no suffering, no pain, no excitement. They value the struggle and hardship generated from it. And don't go thinking he's too alien to comprehend- no it's not that their pleasure- pain centers are all mixed up and so it's understandable that they value pain as good, that their sensations are different- no they hate just as much as they next race, they don't want it inflicted on themselves, yet they do it to others. If it happens to them they most likely rationalize it as deserved because they're less superior or in hindsight they see it as invigorating but make no mistake, he's not some eccentric old man too weird to understand, he's a sadist. Cruel and strange. All of them are-"

"Ok, now your stereotyping." said Mab.

"Stereotyping? My years as a padawan I was trained and briefed on all races. 97 percent-"

"Come on that's just files and reports. You got to go out there-"

"Oh, yes go out there" acerbically, mocking" Well so far on first hand anecdotal evidence" he said, trailing off, gesturing upwards, vaguely to Serik.

"He can't be all that bad" said Mab, persistently.

"Fine then, trust him, believe him. _'The good doctor'_ see each prick of the needle, each grasp of the claw as the healing touch, not for what really is, a game, a torment for his amusement. He practices on patients to excite, and the lababotry work- it's nothing more intellectual masturbation. Go, think whatever you like, I'll watch out enough for the both of us" He sat down and glanced briefly at the group ,"I'll watch out for all of us" and then scowled at the ground. Carth later came over to Mab, and whispered, "I think he knows what he's talking about, Mab.'

"Come on, Carth! You served with a Trandosan before haven't you. You can't even begrudge them a little respect?"

"The one Tranosian I served with got court marshaled for dissecting an enemy Mandalorian alive..." He shrugged apologetically. "Sorry"

Msb rolled her eyes at him.

Serik later entered in, pulling two carts behind him, along with a couple clanky robots carrying stuff on their flat, lid heads, balancing them precariously, holding as much as they could in place, preventing it from falling off with their stick hands. The Trandosan was now wearing a ferrymen's hat, brown fabric, floppy old rim that drooped over his face, in addition to the rest of his previous outfit.

"WM-33 load the rest in. Are we ready after that?"

"Certainly. I suggest to meet your needs we leave right away."

After packing, (Serik's droids helped as best as they could, but were more of a nuisance they anything, being clumsy and efficient- T3 polite and obliging to them, taking loads out of their hands, and driving up vertically to place it in higher shelves, WM-33 "accidently" stepping one or two by walking backwards slightly, not destroying them, but only compressing them, squishing them, so nothing more than their plate heads showed, flat against the ground) they set off, the giant mech crouched low, walking on all fours- they went through a chain of passageways, high arches every few meters, the walls yellowish and fading, made out of chipped tile, resembling the aesthetic of an ancient underground church, a long mosaic covering them, of a bloody battle, various knights and Tranodsan lords dueling with swords, maces, and bows, primitive figures, their faces and bodies made out of differently painted squares, a blocky cubic image. They made a turn, and through a portcullis entered the tunnel- it was pitch black, and Serik seizing a torch off the wall, and touched both sides of it- there were channels there, thin, and they lit on fire, and the flame raced along the length, illuminating both stone walls. They continued walking, Serik leading, leaning on his staff more and more, and moving slower, brushing aside cobwebs, torch held high in the other hand- "This was the first part built. Then a small house connected. In a way you could we are curators of the Endless Stair."

They continued on, twisting and turning- "We are in the spire now." He placed his hand against a wall. "They are inches away" he whispered softly, "They think it is a maintenance tunnel. Unbelievable. The greatest treasures of this planet are hidden, disguised in plain sight. Where are the other staircases I wonder? And yet when you think about it, amazingly, what makes this so valuable is simply the fact that all it is is an open space, heading down vertically. Nothing more, nothing less. But that makes it irreplaceable in a planet as crowed as this. One cannot drop straight anywhere else, cannot navigate without crashing into something."

They reached the end of the tunnel, the staircase beginning, a few steps visible, the rest soon disappearing into darkness. "We will not be taking that route, not today.... Although there are some that say all walk it eventually"

"And others who say only the evil do..." said Mission... and Mab realized the girl was absolutely terrified.

They walked down slight slope, a ramp, branching off from this point, until they reached the final dead end, a room off the main path, one end a intricate doorway, two slabs of stone, meeting into them middle at a slight crack, covered in gold and rare jewels. Scattered around the room and leaned up against the wall were multiple types of guns, and also propped was a slightly twisted metal grate, made of bars both horizontal and vertical. Serik walked up to the passageway and out of his shirt, underneath, resting against his chest, he lifted a large brass key on a chain. (The key being a piece of metal with a data encoded square on the end.) He pressed the square onto and into a small slot, an indentation ringed with silver, in the direct center of the doorway and it slide open, revealing an open faced lift, metal and gigantic.

"The droid will attach the grate onto the the elevator once we are inside, sealing us in. Then we we lift the elevator one level, revealing an open shaft. The droid will jump in and fall, land and crawl out, meeting us on the surface.

"Why do we need the grate?"

"...protection..."

They entered into the elevator- "Is everyone ready" asked Reven, looking around. They all nodded. "I assume now would be the time to put on the suits?" he asked.

"Indeed' said Serik. "The sooner, the better"

They pulled on their helmets, monstrous things, elongated, ending in sharp points on the top, and blades, the bottoms made of moving pieces, resembling jaws, palettes, mandibles and mouthfuls of teeth, (as they did so, the sound of compressing air jetted out, along with small puffs of gas) and then WM-33 lifted up the grate in both his hands and shoved it against the edges of the elevator, pushing it in, hammering it on. ("Grateful Ccomment: Thank you master, by the way, for giving me a head start. Maybe now I'll finally get my fill before you arrive to stop the fun."

"You are to stay at landing point, and not engage unless necessary."

"Depressed Realization: I rescind the remark then. This is only, in fact, a worse torture. My subprocessors quake with dismay. Off the side muttering: Send a war droid into the most dangerous territory in the system, and tell him to wait...")

Serik lifted the key and pushed it against a brass control panel, filled with large archaic buttons, and a golden plate background, engraved. The elevator lifted up, Serik paused for a moment and then looked at them- Revan inclined his head and then the lift dropped, speeding downwards, sickening, Mab's stomach lurching, eyeballs vibrating, head pounding.

"This is the furthest the gravity generators will stabilize us! " shouted Serik, splayed against a wall, thrown, to them lying on the ground in utter nausea (Revan sat, lotus position, eyes closed). This continued on, maddening torture, for many hours, thought barely possible, blood burning, terrible headaches, all a blur, Mab throwing up three times, the suit recycling it. Much later, all at once, it slowed down, suddenly- they were will still going fast, but the descent didn't feel as bad. "We have reduced speed. Going this fast just by falling will still of course cause one's brain to explode- but now, it istolerable, when combined with the stabilizers."

"Why?"

"We will arrive soon. We must slow down."

They passed dark rooms, filled with unseen things, moving too swiftly to be completely discernable, but only a few more hours and they slowed down even more, and after a while, in that speed, a gentle descent, the last part of the journey, suddenly, it all changed: they descended past the in between, the layer where one floor ended and another began, a solid bar of mortar and metal, and then there they were: squirming white bodies men and women, pressed against the grate. They all jumped back in shock, except Revan. Once more, another level, and then more bodies, shaking the metal, screaming, eyeless things most the time, hideously deformed, begging and shrieking, arms reaching in between the bars and grasping, and pulling, and grabbing senselessly, hands closing and opening without reason. The elevator would slowly descend, and they would lean down with it, moving with it, shoving their limbs and face as low as they would go, still trying to commune with those inside. This went on and on, the beggars and the malformed shaking and pounding, gibbering and speaking all too clearly, the metal twisting even more, breaking and being wretched free. A corner was pulled away, bending, and crush of flesh tried to shove its way in, the entire gap filled. It could not take much more damage; it was lose and beginning to slide off. The whole thing was torn away, one final grab, and now on each level, they began trying to throw themselves in. The group was forced to kick at them, when the elevator was up high, above the horde, kick at their faces, and upper bodies as they leapt and attempted to pull themselves up, and push and and punch and claw when they were at an equal position, shoving all back, holding the line.

This went on for a while until they were too overwhelmed to maintain it- there were too many of them, and they, moaning and crying, and touching, pushed their way in- Carth, blood draining from his face, ignited his pistols, shooting all away hysterically, Mab beat and beat with her baton knocking them out and trying to clear out the room, Mission cried and backed up into a corner, sliding down into protective position, while T3 lasered any who got near her, and Serik's staff, the end delicate and curved, burst into flame, and he swung it back and forth, thrusting it at them, and over their heads, bellowing , "BACK BACK", the creatures retreating, fearing the brightness. A single strand light rocked back and forth, as it was constantly bumped and hit in the chaos, plunging the room into alterations of shadow and clearness, objects not fully seen now, only parts of the small enclosure visible at one time (and these parts changing quickly, so it was hard to lock onto anything) then pathetic faces and crooked teeth suddenly appearing out of nowhere up close, or illuminated quickly, and then disappearing. In the struggle it shattered and then they were in complete darkness, struggling with the crush, the withering hands- Revan's lightsaber switched on, buzzing, but instead of slicing and dicing and destroying all, he stood there motionless, face illumined by the purple glow.

Through and behind the mass, in brief unfocused glimpses, over shoulders and beside heads, Mab saw the rooms behind them, strange, and incompressible, rooms filled with rusty sharp pipes they she swore grew as she watched, interlinking and forming intricate masses, rooms pulsing with flesh, room filled with devilish machines, conveyer lines that built dolls, other parts on thin claws above, of cooing babies of eldritch creatures long dead, or that never existed, animatronic porcelain dolls whose heads walked on spider legs, and looked with dead eyes, rooms filled with pools and puddles and vats of slime and liquid (immediately as they entered one level, a flood of dirty water rushed into the elevator clearing it out, threatening to wash them away, Mission grabbing on a pole built into one the walls of the elevator,, and Mab and Carth holding onto the sides, completely horizontal, legs out , the derelicts flailing and attempting to grab onto them) rooms filled with fungus, rooms of unearthly singing and choirs of moving light shaped like cold angels. Finally it stopped, as soon as it had begun, the group not quite believing it, in shock, the minutes a mad blur that had gone by so quickly- and they went down, and saw only a few beggars hiding in the corners or peeking out behind furniture, eyes glowing- the last one was a women with long black hair, pale cut flesh on her face, each slash going side to side, creating thick sections, resembling a wrap of bandages, holding out in supplication a hideous child in bundle half obscured, on her hands and knees crying to them.

Then they stopped. They stopped and stood still for a few seconds, utterly speechless, breathing heavily, shaking, Carth, Mab, and Mission either crying or staring blankly ahead. There was one final pause, and Serik turned facing the opposite wall and they with him. It opened.

"Welcome to the Underworld. Where there are things worse than death."


	6. Chapter 6

_This is the last chapter that is set entirely on Taris, so it is kind of a goodbye – a final farewell and sumarization of everything that makes the place magical, strange, and horrific. It is fitting then to name the chapter simply "Taris"._

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**Chapter Six: Taris **

* * *

Serik put his staff back down, which he had been lifting slightly, gesturing with, introducing them to the City Below - both because they had literally arrived, and it was presented through the open doors - the physical terrain welcoming them, the stark oppressiveness - and because of what had occurred, the events perfectly indicative of life down there, quintessential, a summarization. He walked forward slowly in the darkness - Mab stunned for a second, came after him quickly and angrily, and laid a hand on his shoulder; infuriated due to what had occurred - but more then just that, she felt she was proven wrong about him, Reva's pessimistic, cynical view the correct one.

"Did you know that was going happen - was this another adventure in your amusement realm?"

He stared at her, and then sat wearily on a small outcrop of rock or steal; he rested his limbs on his knees and held onto the walking stick weakly. "No I did not... That was the most terrible thing I have ever seen in my life... and believe it is only the start -"

"Why do you have the grate in the elevator then?" demanded Revan.

"The mercenaries spoke of such things happening- but I thought they were exaggerating, hysterical. Most sentients... I knew it would bad, but I did not think...I could not have imagined... They let fear take control of them and things become larger and more dramatic then they actually are, usually... You have no tolerance for it-"

Revan harrumphed, snorting angrily, but before he could say anything-

"I should have expected... I knew we would have to deal with things...but I thought it would happen later... Deeper, after a while... we could prepare ourselves mentally. I... it was foolish of me."

"We'll have it to accept that it will be like this - this level of danger. No one's fault, no one trying to do any harm." said Carth, looking at everyone.

"There is a small village of outcasts and mutants nearby." said Serik finally, standing up. We can set up a medical camp- I can get to work immediately It is a good days walk away."

Revan nodded - they had already talked about this, Serik was just repeating it to close the subject, move on to something else. "Let's get WM's lights on-"

"Before that, let me attend - quickly." Serik said and then walked back to the elevator- WM was standing near by, resting, and Palladarah came toward it as it began heading at Revan. Serik pushed a few buttons near the side of the elevator and the container dropped a few more levels - then a steel floor closed over it, as well as one sealing the entrance to the shaft. "The elevator was dropped into a bunker and small facility- it is nuclear, fission and nano prood. It should be safe. Our...escape... is more guaranteed now."

They began walking away, backwards at first, staring at the massive tower in the forest surrounding them, no different or distinguishable from many of the others in the gloom, and Revan nodded at the the war droid once again. "Visibility. Not all of them, but enough." The droid couched down as it moved, making a clicking sound, and thrust it's shoulders forward slightly - on them two headlights shown, where the missile slots would be among the arrangement of the rest of the holes, thin beams- and out of it's eyes came a third one, bright and orange. Revan reached into his cloak and from the depths within released metallic liquid into the air - it floated and spread, glistening, until it inched and expanded into two razor thin discs. The discs levitated in the front and off to the side of Revan - and shot two thick rays from their thin surfaces.

As they went, the group worked with their personnel sight devices - the helmets HUDs were ineffective, foreign and useless, full of shifting colors, like rainbows on oil slicks, sickly and alien, and with strange displays and Mab and the others had disabled them immediately after putting them on - so instead Mab opened up the glass in front of the headgear, a stale muggy breeze hitting her face, easily causing the pores on her skin to ooze sweat (she was sure if the mouthpiece had been opened as well, she would of gagged immediately - she could taste the air, imagine it's flavor just by feeling it, it's rotten dryness, it's dustiness) and pulled over her eyes a pair of goggles that had been resting on her forehead, part of her outfit - Serik did the same, pulling his goggles down in one jerking metallic click, although his had three parts to it, glowed and shined, and a decidedly surgical air - the lens were thick and protuberant as there were many of them, in layers, many that could be switched and moved out of place - Carth swept his guns in front of him, back and forth, scanning and sweeping all ahead, looking through the hologram scopes - a large screen that projected at the start of each gun, up into the air, off the pistol, close to it as if it was part of it, and Mission walked behind T3-M4, looking through a similar device, but even bigger, one that was the size of almost her entire body - a window into the world.

After Mab pulled on her goggles, she craned her head up without realizing why for a moment. She was looking for stars - it was dark of course and she thought she might see some celestial bodies - for that one second not even realizing the absurdity of it. There was nothing discernible, nothing but looming behemoths on every side, at every angle, going up forever - it was like she was in a crowded grove, barely enough room to walk, the trees outshots and underbrush only making it harder, only limiting the open space even more - it was the bottom of the sea, utter inky blackness, a cave near the floor by twisted coral - whatever the natural equivalent, it was place of isolation and removal, the lonely hush of the wood, the dampened sound - the complete silence of the ocean.

They were in diseased root of the city, it's forgotten heart - as if the spirit of the planet had transcended body, trans flesh, moved beyond into the astral plane of wonder, post scarcity, but was still connected to it, tenuously, one could not survive with the other - and this left behind, thrown aside body lay lifeless, cationic, due to it's neglect rotting alive, organs failing - some secret, but still essential copse hidden in the weeds or the pits for safe keeping. The dreamers body fled in an endless irresponsible night, yet if this host lying tucked away in some abandoned bed (of dirt and dust and webs), insects crawling across it's insensitive face, meat picked at, bedsores growing, was fatally wounded both would die, and the fantasy would end.

Taris could not leave the Undercity, as it was it's foundation, but they allowed it to fall into complete despair - as long as it held them up. Some day it would collapse for the final time, beyond repair, but perhaps the T**arisans** hopped that even in this rubble form, all the unknown machines that kept Taris going destroyed, all the supports snapped, it could hold them, be a solid bedrock, that this future crushed mass, this tumoured ruin, this pile of rubble, that was destined to develop one day, would be enough, serve it's only purpose, it's only true useful purpose, just as well. And if it did, if it collapsed but the shifts and quakes where minoot , and they could use nanomites and lasers and beams to meld and melt it into a solid floor (as they had been hoping to do for years, but as long as they were hints of a population living down there it was something not even they go through on - something that would draw the attention and sanctions of the Republic, that could not be ignored) it would be be a tremendously thing, a step up, like now, the present but with one factor removed - the Undercity would no longer periodically spawn threats to the survival of their civilization - monstrosities and rebels that challenged the status quo and other things, best left unspoken.

They continued through alleyway after alleyway, most of the time however going through buildings - as the cracks between might be large enough for them, but they wanted to stick together with WM-33 - so they would push on in a line, having to wretch open doors and passageways, attempting to do minimum damage. A few times they came to buildings with no foundations; they could walk right under them - a large amount of space above their heads the towers simply floated, it seemed. They passed under one, and looked up into it, through the many floors and holes and staircases; in it there were multiple pathways crossing the center - moving staircases and bridges that at higher distances seemed active, switching and crossing and in motion, connecting to different points.

"How is this possible?' asked Mission.

"It reminds me of the floating spires on C**orusant.** Light as air material, anti gravity thrusters, they bob along, sometimes even move to different spots..."

'The cloud castles..." said Mission in wonder.

Carth chuckled "I haven't that name for them in years - no I read that in a book in fact. That's a really old term."

"That's feasible - I think it's more likely they're simply supported further up" answered Revan, looking at the girl.

"Hmm. It's so crazy, staring up into them."

They continued on, eyes above - finally, something to interest them, something to look at, to stimulate - faint flames making the crossways look ominous as they switched like train tracks. Perhaps, in this world where one could walk under buildings, and look up into them, there _were_ stars: suspended towers where certain floors glittered and the combined effect was fantastic, omens and portents of the filament, holographs danced and cavorted if you lay on your back and stared log enough, diamonds and gigantic jewels kept for arts galleries abandoned shining in random spots, the motion of machines or makeshift tools of spire dwellers swirling about in interesting celestial movements like comets - perhaps in this world there were constellations, beautiful enough towers, particular ones to be marked on maps, to be visited by groups of people to gaze with telescopes into, on hills of rubbish and dirt, when they wanted a little aesthetic in their life, something more.

They went between two large heaps of rusted metal, then through a building, WM-33 blowing a hole occasionally, other times making them climb up unreliable staircases to reach a hatch a little higher up-

"Serik - can animals be infected with the Rakghoul virus?"

"No, a certain amount of interconnected, neuron rich brain matter is required."

"What about... smaller races..."

Mab jerked her head at Revan, raising an eyebrow. "There is a size limit... about... this high" he rose his hand; it went up to Mission's chest.

"I see... but as long as the creature is able to bite... and is already transformed... As a last resort, I believe we should infect one of the villagers, another suitable subject, or capture a ghoul, and decapitate them... keeping their heads alive in a box of sorts, so if need be, we can have it bite."

"What?"

"I do have the equipment, yes...but... I doubt there is any way we could smuggle the head up to a high enough level of Taris to reach a spaceport or other form of transportion. They are very defensive against any sort of disease, coming from here, paranoid almost, and there will be scans for it, and searches, rest assured at every point, even simply walking the streets and terraces - now the serum of the other hand should be easy to disguise; even it they were looking for the chemical compound I could simply dilute it."

"Well if they're searching for any infected individuals won't the robots scanners - you know the whole reason we're doing this - catch us?" said Carth.

"They don't care if anyone leaves the planet infected" a malicious snicker "and even if they did it doesn't matter anymore. The orbs have been hijacked by the Sith. And the Sith must assuredly do not prioritize such a thing. The scanners were just to stop aliens from entering - they do not deal with disease. They may not even register it; most likely someone ill enough to mutate would come up as an unknown species, as we are hoping. I am sure they deal with sickness at Processing - once you are human they will allow you to land and then give you the time of the day - and they are very effective at it."

Halfway through this, still listening but tuning it out, and the end fading away slightly, Mab turned to Revan. "So it's any means necessary, huh?"

Revan simply stared at Mab and then looked away -

"No..." he said quietly, a long pause later, unexpectedly, "No, I have learnt, I have seen, that that way... that way is dangerous."

"Well you don't act like I-"

"That is enough" he said - Mab blushed and stared at her feet; she wished her quick bursts of bravery could last so she could deal with the aftereffects - keep a strong front.

* * *

They was skittering and sounds from afar- on a far away stump of a building, jagged and pointing upwards, they spotted a rakghoul - on the peak of a sharp end, a silhouette staring at them, eyes glowing. It paused for a second, body tense, and then shot off in their direction, disappearing.

'What kind of universe... allows such things to exist. I mean it isn't even... logical - such a virus shouldn't develop through evolution. It's something you expect from a Green Sword (slang for biological weapon on Carth's planet) maybe, but not to come about through chance." said Carth.

"This is not the natural order of things. The Dark Side.. it is strong here." replied Revan.

"Oh, I disagree - if I may interject, offer an opposing view?" said Serik, serenely, moving his head in - Revan lip curled in disgust; Serik's academic, scholarly attitude, eccentric and open minded, holding everything to debate was an direct opposite to Revan's assumed style, especially when he talked about the Force.

"Yes" he said icily.

"I would say the Dark Side is missing here as well - a place powerful in The Violent Energies would be a world of strife, power, conflict, savage beauty... no...this is a dead place... a complete absence of The Force in it's entirety. That is what allows such abominations to exist. I have struggled against such places my entire life - attempted to improve them, give them back their vitality, their vim. In fact that is my mission with my medic-

"That is a surprising deep view, Serik" Revan conceded, moving his head. "How did you come to such a idea?"

"I have studied... I have many books in my library."

"Obviously Sith - and their equivalents - tomes. Of course they are going to present their twisted views with a positive spin."

"Perhaps you should be more open mind -"

"Perhaps you should learn your place! I am not accustomed to this" he said angrily, holding his hands up and looking at all of them "this looseness. I know why it has happened - my bond with Mab has presented a more human side of me. I am not human" the way Revan phrased it was strange, and Mab shifted from a raised eyebrow to scrunchingup her face and staring at him "... I am...I am meant to be impersonal, faceless. There is to be a distance. That is the most efficient way. That will be the way from now- is that okay?" he said - ironic, although he spoke of impersonality, at this last line he shoved his face forward, exaggerating the expressions, rolling his head slightly, a sarcastic glow to the line.

"Perhaps you should be more oped minded" said Serik, stubbornly, and Revan flicked his face at him, eyes bulging, "I do not have the luxury of that, sir scholar in an ivory tower. I can not boyishly experiment with various ideologies, no matter their inherent danger or falseness, I have great - The Jedi have great responsibly and power. You enjoy your right to dabble in Sith philosophy , it is your liberty, but do not presume to lecture me with it, so far removed you neither understand the risks nor the horrors that come with.

"Didn't you experiment when you were younger? I heard you were "a badboy rebel" or something -"

Revan turned to her, exasperated, "Did I not just say-" but a slight spasm of a smile had appeared momentary, a smile of annoyance.

"Sorry -"

"No wait. What did you say- a badboy, a rebel... where did you hear this? Are you -"

"Just common knowledge" as Carth shifted nervously.

He stared at her curiously, then said, "I had a voracious thirst for knowledge, blatantly disregarded rules, and a large ego... but it was not the dark side that tempted. Rather the aliments of...The Order... now please, I must... focus."

A few seconds later, Revan staring ahead Carth said to him, slightly off to the side, quickly "My apologies sir. I have been trying to keep to protocol and the chain of command-"

"It is not your fault. If this mission was just military men... but we have a rather rag-tag-"

"I'm in the military!"

"I've seen your file." he sneered at her.

* * *

Later Mab walked over to Serik. "That ring on your finger; is that related to what you were talking about."

'Funnily enough yes – the thing I was indavently gesturing with is connected to the topic at hand."

On one of his three scaly fingers, thick and curled, ending in sharp claws, was a gaudy, bulky ring, a small picture painted into the place where a stone or gem could reside. He held his talon up – what the image was of was what Mab had thought: a rabbit crouched down, turning it's head and bearing it's teeth at an eagle swooping down at it. "This perfectly represents what the Jedi would call the Dark side, and it in fact contrasted with another symbol – they are both incredibly ancient and come from a planet far away from here, and an era much unlike our own. The lightsider's is a rabbit, laying supine at the talons of the eagle, exposing it's weak underbelly. Their paradise is a world of order, where the sick animal allows itself to be eaten, and the dying do not clutch greedily to life, but find a predator to devour them - where the prey always sacrifices itself to what is obviously stronger, does not even put up a fight, and all animals live next to each other in absolute harmony, even when they are hungry – an eagle will, when stirred by it's urges, merely have to turn to it's neighbor and began to chew – a world of hierarchies and everything done for the balance of the universe, the greater good. Mine is the exact opposite; where even the weak fight, when the rabbit give it it's all and dares to defy anything that attempts to take it with it's last breath. It's suppose to be a powerful absurdity - such a gentle creature transformed into something that would claw and bite at the very moment of struggle, not as a final, insane resort. A place where every single being in the galaxy is at constant war with each other even when it's hopeless or mad – the worm attempts to fight the bird, the deer the wolf. The Jedi may find something admirable in theirs -see the rabbit as a noble being sacrificing itself, perhaps suppose to embody them, but..."

* * *

A few more rakghouls were seen, one crawling down a wall, spider like, others in groups of five rushing down slopes and up piles - some squeezing through cracks, faces bulging, flesh compressed, ---wiggling like worms - a small group on all four legs ran towards them through a mostly open building, others spotted them from a tower and began running down the collapsed exposed stairs.

"Placement?" asked Revan of WM-33.

"Answer: Four small groups to the North, eagle formation, one large group climbing over us on a fallen building, horizontal overhead, a third of a Don to the right, fourteen medium groups coming up through tunnels to our far right, approximately twenty Dons, a veritable herd coming down another building" - Mab saw them, inching down it's sheer side, head first, sticking to it, a massive group. The tower was composed of bleak obsidian, sharp, slick rock, and as they descended a few, when they crossed certain spots, composed of jagged materials, were sucked inside - first pulled to the right or left (the hole was not perfectly straight) then in- and yet they continued on, obvious, a sheet of blood oozing just above them, following. -"sixteen groups that have been chasing after us for a while, and a substantial amount of stragglers coming in from angles and direction except the Southwest. There are also two hundred and four small to medium sized groups in a near radius, who have yet noticed us, from what I detect..."

"I see... convergence point? "

"Where do you wish master?"

"We can not avoid them long..." he said to the group, "and we need rest soon- we'll need to kill a number of them to be safe. From my brief investigations with WM-33 over the previous hour, there is a large broken building, like a courtyard. It is open and one can see clearly in directions. We will provoke the battle there. We have been avoiding them for too long" (and indeed they had, they had been going out of way to do so - relying on WM-33's reports they would double back, climb under fallen buildings, go up spires, take detours and longer routes, never really losing their pursuers, only causing the Rakghouls to trail behind.)

They walked toward the courtyard, nearing the middle of it, where there would prepare. It was a open square, eroded supports scattered about, chunks of smashed building up above, resting against the sides of the other towers. Carth said "Now the first wave will be coming from our left, correct?"

"NOW!" shouted Revan, and WM-33 crouched down and every spot of it's body snapped on, making a loud popping sound, bathing the entire field in light - a flood was hitting them, from an unexpected side - they had advanced faster then thought possible or snuck up somehow, obscured - suddenly they were overwhelmed, the group running at them, some sprinting past Mab at the others behind so she was in the middle of it, the rushing flow - Mab began beating with her baton, hitting those in motion and knocking them off their feet, catching necks in the crooks and breaking them - Carth went over to Mission, and T3 and did his work with the pistols, (the guns had been magnetically attacked to two spikes on his hips, pointing upwards against his body; he slid them off) Revan's blade ignited, and then there were none around him, and suddenly appearing in Serik's hands were micrometer thin molecular glass blades, two of them, and he sliced smoothly, the rakghouls falling in pieces around - all this as WM's missiles shot and his lasers hummed on.

"Each of you, to one of the hills!"- there were large piles, two of dirt, and ground, one of garbage- Revan and Mab sprinted for the earthen one, the slimy crouching creatures throwing themselves from all directions, dropping from above - Serik climbed to the top of the garbage, and Carth, Mission and T3 ascended the last one, having to beat a path. Mab and Revan stood back to back, smiting all that attacked them - if a Rakghouls got into her swing, too close to hit, against her body, Mab would smash it with the metal gantlets and spikes- Carth appeared to dance, guns constantly pointing in new directions, while Mission crouched behind T3-M4 targeting its secondary systems and occasionally blasting a Rakghoul that got up, the ion blaster wrapped around a thorny arm - Serik continued to slice - but a dagger was knocked out of his hands - Reven shouted "are you alright?"

"Rest assured... don not worry about me!" He grabbed his staff in both hands, the end curving like an engraved shepherds crook and stabbed it against the garbage surrounding his feet - immediately the mound burst into flame. When Mab saw him next, he was shooting beams out of the tip, blasting the shrieking creatures who burned their hands and feet and cracked their flesh to get to him away.

The mounds were larger, growing - they were no longer just base materials but bodies, copses - they exponentially expanded. All three groups were standing on piles of copses, ragkouls stumbling to the top just to get dispatched and still they came- a tower connected to a building snapped as it's top was flooded with overlooking rakghouls. This tower fell slowly, as cords wrapped and tangled around took their time to snap, and crashed in the middle of the courtyard. Rakghouls flooded from it, heading in three different directions.

The ground they were standing on was unsure and shifty - even the bodies that were dead (yes some still lived and withered and attempted to grab at their feet and bite) provided poor footing - it was clumsy work standing - Serik stumbled as the place he was situated on crumbled and the bodies rolled down the side, so now he was lower and more equal with his attackers - with little time to think he stabbed the staff behind him and from it beams of fire made a circle, except one slice where his head was, an almost full ring, his face framed by it, red skin glistening and highlighted, looking like some vengeful old testament god.

The rakgouls that headed at him face on he stabbed with the one blade remaining, quick efficient work, one jerk and a pull and they fell - he came at different angles, holding it in his grip differently, sometimes inserted in a way where he could pull and the part he yanked on would remove in his hand, or some seemingly unrelated section would slid out - he brutally and surgically removed spines this way, tearing them out like trophies with one genius, choice cut.

"It's almost over!" shouted Revan to Mab as he sliced one rakghoul and held another by the throat, feet off the ground. He snapped it's neck and threw it into the crowd surrounded them, knocking a few over.

A few more minutes later: "WM!" The war droid shot from it's back a large metallic silver gun into Revan's hands; he caught it and walked implacably down the slope, holding it in both hands, firing beams that could sometimes take a ghouls entire top off from the torso. He continued walking forward, slowly, patiently killing the monstrosities off, and Mab descended as well, joining the thinning fray, until there were only a few survivors left (killed by WM- it only seemed fair he got the leftovers).

"Let's get out of here" said Revan. "We've done enough." They walked away, WM backwards, occasionally firing or launching a missile.

* * *

They were situated around a temperature equilibrium device - a primitive looking generator made up off twisted metal pipes, giving off visible waves of heats that made the air simmer and roll - resting, helmets off, Carth interacting with his personal computer, Mission, gauntlets removed as well, laying down hands behind her head, propping it up and Mab and Revan opposite each other, the block in the middle. They had walked for six hours after the battle, picking off stray groups and fighting small numbers of Rakghouls (and at one point, lighting a group of flying creatures on fire with a spray of explosive liquid from WM - a building had been covered in multiple bulbous eyes blinking and opening, wet and protuberant, and when they got near, they startled the collection and suddenly each eye revealed itself to be a separate creature and flew away in several directions, a obscuring swarm, flapping wings and antennas brushing against their bodies- like a moth with a fake eye on it's back, a design, except in this case it was no illusion - it seemed they gathered together and formed someone sort of group to better enhance their vision, a hive mind connection, as the eyes pointed in all directions observing dispassionately) and after a while it seemed to quiet down, sounds of movement far and in between and at great distances, although they were still occurring frequently enough that light commotion followed them for the entire trip, the noise of scattered objects, disturbed rocks falling, the crunch of stiff garbage - and twice a glow, a light flickering just out a view - and one time Mab swore she heard a popping sound, and something flying through the air. It could have been many things, or one being stalking, the cause of it all - it was completely indiscernible and everything mixed together as well as blended with the howls, moans and groans of the living earth.

"I'm not getting any wireless access down here- I can't reach the surface- well there's a couple networks around, ancient one's by the looks of them but I'm not sure I want to enter them" said Carth, typing on a small keyboard that popped out the bottom of the device, out of a slot, and pushing large buttons on the holographic screen projecting in front (Carth couldn't use a holographic keyboard, as to successfully and enjoyably employ one, the illusion of **solidarity** had to be created; otherwise it was uncomfortable and awkward, and often times people typing in bare air overextended their fingers, causing strain -and since soldiers of the Republic were forbidden from getting VR implants or brain modifications in case they might be hacked or disabled violently to cause damage, hardware was the only option left)

"Yes avoid any networks, we don't know what lurks within them...the violent mutation of this blasted land is surely mirrored in the computer systems." ( and in fact they had already encountered such things, daemons, ghosts of the machines - possessed buildings where the doors opened and closed violently and stereo systems blared screeches and low guttural languages, played backwards, several statues, like gargoyles on alcoves or by Gothic windows, awakening as they walked past - their movement cracking the built up stone and deposits on their bodies, the shells, and making their old joints groan and snap - and extending their arms towards them slowly, and a glowing, engraved obelisk, surrounded by a thick layer of fog - which turned out to be holographic- intoning at them in a deep echoing voice over and over again "RELEASE ME" as they ground shook and trembled, Mission crying in terror)

"You're right sir... Computer lock down." It's outer rubberized frame, which was extended out, pulled back in, contracting and the rim around the screen glowed a bluish gray. "Luckily most my files and programs are saved on the computer itself, not in the UC - that's military tech for you." (UC meaning Ubiquitous Cloud, the part of the Sphere where people's personal information, programs, documents, basically their accounts could be kept and could be pulled out of secure systems at any terminal - or their own computer.)

"**Manuel** Consul-AT." Mab said, staring at Revan.

He inclined his head at her, thankfully, "Yes Drop Trooper?"

"We're being followed aren't we..."

"...Indeed." Carth looked up. "For some time now, since we got on The Titan Train in fact, although he has been on my trail, searching for me, - and getting closer every day - since The Race... It has just been since we got down here though that he has obtained a clear view and is directly following us."

"Who...?

'A man by the name of Calo Nord, a Mandalorian bounty hunter and mercenary."

"Have you met him before?"

"If I had met him before, he'd be dead." he said simply, no false modesty.

"Why is - what does he wants exactly?"

"I imagine the Sith had employed hunters on every planet - he must prove I am actually here, beyond a possibility of a doubt. At some moment it's likely he will attempt to trap or corner me, and extract a DNA sample. Any other evidence could be faked -and since only the Sith possess this information – they obtained it at a great cost - DNA is the best verification of my existence here on Taris. If obtained, they know it wouldn't be a fake or recreation- no one besides them has the data to simply make a copy."

"There...there is another isn't there?"

Revan stared at here, raising an eyebrow. "That is very astute of you... The Disciple... through The Force or random chance, choose Taris as his planet to investigate. It started as soon as he boarded the Ebon Hawk- he knew where the life boats were going to end up - it was obvious to anyone watching; Taris was the only planet near by- and followed them down- in his own personal ship I believe. He... he has actually been in the Undercity before us, about a day before - he had entered at a further away point. He is now racing, racing across wastes to catch up with us... He is near by..."

"Revan! If he tells The Exile you're here, she'll certainly believe him, unlike some bounty hunter!" she said standing up, intensely excited and panicking.

'Yes, yes... and all his logical facilities posit that it is indeed I. Yet the most important senses have not yet come to a conclusion- through the Force, I am still a question mark."

"How actually can he sense you? How do you hide yourself?"

"There are two ways- if I used The Force beyond that of a normal Jedi, he would feel it, and put two and two together- the deduction would be obvious. And if I lost control... if I let myself go, and revealed some intimate part of my personality, unrestrained, some quintessential set of emotions and personality traits brought forth in a powerful manner, he could find me as well...although it it possible he does not know me well enough to capitalize on such a mistake. Thus I am regulating, dampening, containing both."

"Well what about me? He was using me as well, right? And I don't know how to contain myself, how to do all that. And I met him face to face and he got an impression of me! I was in a weak state!'

'Yes... there is...so little hope. It is a desperate situation. " He said running his hands through his hair and letting his face collapse into them.

"So what, the Exile is going to-" visibly freaking out, thinking Revan was basically admitting all was lost, about ready to start clawing at her face or grabbing her hair.

"We are right on the edge, teetering, but there are some small points of promise... even if he is sure it is me, he might not be able to contact Her right away... as Carth demonstrated it is hard to access the Sphere down here, to communicate. The opportunity might present itself to kill him before either of us leaves to the surface. And besides... I have probed his mind... it is strange - I believe he will attempt to capture me."

"Why... I mean that-"

"The Exile is dominated by her hunger, and surrounded by sycophants, slaves, and a troupe of madminds, but there are a few cooler heads that prevail... although I wouldn't call them saner. The Disciple is one of them. He serves both her and the cause she represents - believing in it fully - equally favoring them both, neither over the other, in balance. He will try to bring me to her, throw me down in chains at the the foot of her throne, so she can get the prize without wasting her fleet. And later as the Republic crumbles to to my absence and the small attacks of attrition, she will get a planet to devour, without any costs at all. She has little patientance, but he is thinking for the long term. He loves her... love her in a way that means he will attempt to do what is best for her, even it is painful or difficult."

"So we have to watch out for him too, this lover of death?"

"Yes, he will attempt to corner us as well, and bring me to surface disabled. I will have to destroy him before he can accomplish such a thing. Luckily he will go after you and the others as well, to distract and weaken me. It will give me time...yet on the other side puts you all in great danger. Be on you guard. "

She stared at the ground, "So many things could go wrong... How can I sleep... how can I just sit here calmly when I know what could possibly happen the very next second? "

Revan picked up a small pebble and stared at it, rolling it between his fingers. "So many things could go right", and threw the pebble onto the generator. The field cracked and sparked for a second, spitting fire, then the small stone was floating above, spinning slightly and bouncing, dropping and ascending.

Mab was silent for a little longer, then said "Master Revan...", still trying to be polite to make it easier- she wanted things from hims, and wished it to get smoothly, without trouble or argument.

"..."

"Why... why when you ignited your lightsaber on in the elevator you didn't attack anyone?"

"There were innocent.."

"But they assaulting us. We had to defend ourselves, right"

"Yes..." he said reluctantly.

"And obviously you were planning to do so, if you turned it on in the first place- so what made you halt?"

"I was afraid... if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop... I sensed their pain, the misery of their world, and it crossed my mind perhaps it would better off if they were simply dead. Such a idea... is a dangerous path. I can kill but to employ such 'mercy' at my own beck and call - I cannot judge people like that, I cannot believe death is preferable to anything in existence, no matter how horrible. It is my duty to affirm life, not to take it, to remove it, as a gift, whenever I think it is best. Sometimes I think... The Exile or her servants... that is why they are doing what they are doing; they went thorough the same thought process. As a Force user, you feel so much agony, so intensely. And out arrogance, or pity, or maybe even just to make it stop! - perhaps she decided she knew what was best.

... Gwendolyn Vuncroy as one of the sweetest, kindest people I had ever met. She cared for all. She was empathetic. Evil doesn't simply turn one in a generalized villain, all types the same, an instant personality change to fit a mold -it takes one's traits and twists to some dark purpose, presents a warped version of person. It's different for every one.

I was scared I was thinking like her. I wanted to put them out of their suffering."

"What about Bastilla?" asked Mab breathlessly.

"I am tired" said Revan, "I will give you history lessons later."

'When I'm a **padawan**?"

"You really think you're going to get trained?" he said sympathetically.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I. It's my right, isn't it."

He stared at her thoughtfully for a second, "Maybe it is"

* * *

They were near the village that Serik was guiding them towards, inside a wide open tunnel, dark and dripping, walking alongside what appeared to be primitive train tracks.

"The Outcast enclave is near by."

"Serik there's something I don't understand." said Carth. "How are they even going to be recognizable - how are we going to be able to communicate with them? I mean they've probably gone native to this environment."

"Actually... many of them lived in the higher levels of Taris at some point in their lives.. It is hard to survive down here without some knowledge of technology - most successful dwellers were once people of the lower, middle and even upper city."

'How is that possible?"

"Are you aware of the form of execution on some primitive planets where they tie a rock to one's feet, or encase them in a form of adhesive - cement boots, I believe they're normally called, a little witticism - and them shove them into a body of liquid and then allow them to sink?"

"Oh, huh - that's interesting: my wife a month or two ago was telling me about how she had interacted in a crime sim set in the early eras of Terrasrac Dynoacrun - that was actually what happened to the victim she was investigating. But there's no water here, at least none that I've seen."

"There is a different type of ocean... Mob bosses on this planet, and occasionally politicians, attach gravity boots onto their enemies and cover them in a high power, skin tight shield. The victims are let go and dropped towards the center of the planet - imagine, this creature on some rooftop getting dragged towards the edge by the inexorably heavy boots, fingernails clawing at the surface beneath him, and then falling, bouncing of buildings back and forth " Serik waved one finger, simulating a ricocheting body, "through ceilings, down the side of skyscrapers, ripping them up, a rough channel, grabbing at whatever he can, hopelessly, leaving behind a wake of bent poles and broken windows, falling and pulled along and along, always further down, until they land in the Undercity, cast out of the bright upper world. There the boots disable and they sink no further- and their shields normally last a few more weeks until they sputter out completely. More then enough time to create some sort of safe environment thorough the scraps they find, if they have the will - through machines they alone understand and know how to use - the machines that they alone see as something more then magic and legend. They make due with whatever they can - you see, that" there was an unmistakable tone of admiration in his voice" is the full extent of their punishment. That is how the intelligent population of the Undercity gets replenished.

Most of the outcasts succeed and manage to prolong their shields or recreate some form of simple primitive protection, (if they do not, they are annihilated quickly) and then push themselves in a race against time, a desperate search, to find some shelter, their only hope of long term salvation. Oftentimes at the last moment, at the end of their endurance, when all has failed them, they stumble across some established settlement. Many villages have that happen to them, I would imagine - delirious visitors from above, half dead, remnants of whatever devices they manged to put together strung around them, clawing and shambling their way, dehydrated and starving."

His voice, as always when he described tortures and terrors held not nearly a high enough level condemnation and disgust as would make them comfortable; he seemed either to enjoy telling the sordid tales with elaborated details or felt little pity for the victims in the stories and a barely disguised appreciation for the villain's deeds, the grotesqueness and ingenuity of them.

Mab once or twice tried to start conversation with Revan, but he would either simply stare at her and resume whatever he was doing or give short almost guttural responses; yet he and Mission were walking close together, heads near, Mission animated, Revan replying frequently, more then just listening half heatedly; invested in the conversation. A few phrases and segments drifted over to Carth and Mab who were also a couple: "Yes, I was like that"- "It must have been horrible- I feel for you Mission. When I- " - "I know exactly what you're talking about. But that doesn't excuse your behavior-"- "Well there's not secret exactly, just-"

"So the Wookie left? Well you should have gone with him. Your loyalty is to your self, your actualization, not to a planet like this - change can be a good thing."

"I never would have met you guys then!"

"Was suffering through all that came before worth it?"

"Yes!"

Mab caught Revan's face as Mission said this: he blinked suddenly and then quickly looked away from the Twe'lik. "You poor girl."

"So Carth, what are you going to do after all this?"

"Well I'm certain they stick enough metals on us to make us half droid. Probably a couple ceremonies too."

"Goody, hopefully that will balance out all the mouthing-off demerit marks on my personal card."

"In your case... I think you'd have to save the Chancellor as well, smart ass."

"Hah, so what, you think you're going to leave the Military then? You'll be honored enough to apply for a higher pay grade, they'll probably set you up with whatever you want. You could have benefits to cover you and your family for the rest of your life. You could finally go back home."

'No my duty is to the Republic."

"Don't you think your wife wants you-"

"She's the same way Mab.. Neither of us are going to stop fighting until the battle is over. She wouldn't have it any different. Did I ever tell what she does? She builds ships, regular grease droid - a head mechanic. She's up in orbit in the ship yard 24/7 almost- she has just as much drive as me."

"So she builds the ships and you fly."

"Yeah pretty cool huh. That's how we met, actually. They were giving us junior pilots in training a tour of the assembly hanger, show us how the crafts were put together, the work behind it - and there she was, swinging along in overalls on the underside of some fighter. I must have blanked out on the entire lecture - and it was the introduction to our unit on how to make small repairs in the middle of battle on our ships, like how to work around issues or patch things up, information on the nitty gritty design of ships. Very important. Set the framework for the rest of that semester. Luckily, I found a tutor to talk that was quite gifted in that very same subject area. " he grinned widely.

"Careful Carth, if there's ever some disturbance in your martial bliss, she might just loosen one of the screws on the ship you're scheduled to pilot and send you right out into space."

"I think she's had rather just beat me on the head with her hydro-spanner. More simplistic and she carries it around with her at all times."

They both laughed and then Carth continued, "You know, she did actually build me a ship - there was a beach right by one of our house on Telos, the house we rented occasionally to get out in nature, and as a project she made this little solar sail craft, like one or two person, powered by the rays of the sun and then I could swoop and dive over the dunes, dipping, doing all these tricks to amuse my family. Just swirling around above the ocean and the sand. Dustil, my son, would use the droids to create this gigantic castle, and then I would fly through turrets, and into gates and do feints at it, occasionally speeding at him to scare him." he chucked again. "Those were some good vacations."

"Where is your son now?"

"Oh, my son is going to be a Jedi-"

"Really?"

'Yeah a late bloomer. When he was 13, some Jedi, this Dun Kin guy, Master... oh Bryule... um Master Sin Goofun? came across him when we were at a performance and recognized his potential. Normally they don't train Jedi that late, but they decided to do so - he's a padawan right now. "

"Cool real coo-"

'Consul, do you know a Jedi named Dustil Onasi?"

"Your son?"

"Yeah"

"No, I'm afraid I do not" and then the Jedi turned back to his talk with Mission.

"Well, what about you Mab? What are your plans, your hopes?"

"You know... I'm kind of worried about my future." said Mab.

"Yeah, Mab not going to coat it - it's pretty vague."

'What do you think will happen?"

'Well, they're probably going to question you, ask you to remember everyone you've talked to, met with, interacted with for the last five or six months. Try to find out how the Sith knew you had Force potential. That's probably going to link together in some way with whoever leaked the possible fleets Revan could be on. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a crackdown. "

"I don 't even remember my beginning on the Endar Spire; everything was in haze I won't be helpful at all."

"Yeah, Mab no one said it was going to be easy. It's probably going to be a long interrogation. But work with them and it should be fine."

"I don't want to be drugged up again! Not after I finally came out of the fog I was in."

Carth shook his head and then nodded it at Revan, mouthing "Jedi".

Revan, who had been half listening since Carth called over to him, moved nearer to Mab. "Mab you do not have to be concerned. My connection to you provides us with a unique opportunity, if you allow it. I will be able to scan even your most nascent, poorly formed memories and come up with a clear picture. Besides I do not think such vigorous investigation will be required; as soon as the betrayal became clear, the pieces began falling in place. I have a pretty good idea of who is responsible. "

"Anyone we know?" asked Carth.

"That is ,of course, confidential. But do not worry, it is nothing dramatic" he said, slightly contemptuously. "Merely a few mediocre traitors upset with their own failure, and inability **to move upward** and a couple of low ranking spies. As for the individuals that discovered you, Mab and arranged for you and the others to placed on each of the ships, I have known quite positively who they were for some time, along with your purpose in the place of things. A couple days of double checking and I will find them for sure. I simply couldn't before - espionage is a complex game. There are things you cannot do, so as to not reveal your agents, things you must do, like double cross yourself, for the greater good, allow loses, forgo wins, all to keep them in the dark of the whole capacity of your network."

"And how powerful is this network?"

Revan stared for a second thoughtfully, "We are skilled at catching spies, counter espionage, and entangling them in their own webs - but to infiltrate the Sith... that something we have not been as successful at. It is to be expected however. Madness and zeal is difficult to fake - especially before The Exile."

Mab nodded at Revan, "Well that makes me feel slightly better. Glad to know I wouldn't get mind raped for all my troubles here. 'Okay we're going to probe your brain as a reward.'"

"Might clear out some dust."

"I think you're the one who needs that, old man. Okay so if I'm not going to be whisked away somewhere for a year, what then?"

"Well, you'll probably go into one of the Jedi Corps."

"So I wouldn't be a full fledged Knight?" she said, disappointed.

'"I think you just have to give up on that. Sorry, you're not young enough. I mean you may be reborn Force wise, or whatever Revan was saying, but you still have an adult mind. You haven't been indoctrinated." said Carth, kindly.

"I should have figured. I thought my dreams made me special. Stupid of me."

'The Corps aren't that bad Mab. There's plenty of them, from what I've heard. Dustil says sometimes he wishes he was in one."

"They just seem for people who couldn't make the cut."

"Well you're still going to be around individuals like you, in a safe environment. And it's not a waste time, for losers, like you say, just to keep them occupied. Busy-work. It has a purpose. It has order and harmony. Take the Agricultural corps for example. Listen to this. One of my favorite poets worked with them:" Carth began to recite:

_"They say we are weak in The Force_

_insignificant_

_barely registering_

_yet they have us work in the fields_

_so primitively_

_when machines could do just as well._

_So why: there must something we offer, that no one can._

_The wheat is tall and noble and blows in the breeze, like molten gold_

_The tomatoes are ripe and fresh_

_The orchard petals fall in beautiful formations_

_and the air is sweet_

_and I realize _

_as I walk in the fields, hands running along lines of corn, eyes closed_

_the plants grow faster, when we sing to them._

_But healthy fruit_

_and great gigantic vegetables _

_the size of houses_

_a legendary land of harvest and bounty_

_is not the only point_

_otherwise it would not be worth the money_

_and effort._

_In the forests and gardens as we work_

_we provide a living art_

_an sanctified moving alter_

_a representation of the magic and power of humanity's_

_relationship with nature_

_in all it's manifold glory and purity. We preserve it like a piece in a gallery_

_for eternity ._

_Stepping in and ripping of a sweet grape from a wine_

_one feels_

_the holiness in the air._

_The land is our church and we are assigned to carry out devotions in it._

Revan leaned in once again, Serik and Mission now talking, Serik asking Mission for horror stories of the urchin life and listening not quite sympathetically, but also vicariously.

"Athame Cloak."

"You know him?"

"Of course" said Revan lightly, "He is very famous Jedi. His wisdom was eventually recognized and he became a member the The Council - during the The Five Gray Chancellors era I believe. A good poem."

'A fantastic poem" said Carth smiling. "See Mab, people of importance are in the Corps. It doesn't reflect badly on you, just because you weren't discovered soon enough. That's not your fault."

"Hmm. maybe I'll do something with journalism then. I'd like to keep on traveling the galaxy, and hey with Jedi clearance, you know, associated with them, I might actually get _more_ information. You know, I'm thinking, I could come back here. So could you Carth, you could ask to get assigned to this system fleet. I'm sure they'd let you. And they'd listen and you could go and try to get the fleet to investigate the planet. I could be your mind on the ground. "

"You'd be really good at that" said Mission enthusiastically - "If that worked out- " Carth replied, looking happy, "Revan, is there a journalism corps?"

Revan was beginning to appear uncomfortable, "Not exactly. See another purpose of the corps is to get Conduits together in safe, insulated enclaves. Agricultural corps areas are all heavily guarded – walled - the Exploration corps are all located on gigantic ships. Journalism would require a lot of stray Force Users, going off on their own, in their own directions. It's- the point is, the person who's not in the Order, but has been recognized by them as a Force user, is kind of in a dangerous position. They do not have the benefits of training from the Jedi and the protection of the massive organization, yet neither posses the anonymity of the average citizen. They're in the middle, something different from both categories, in between. Corporations, organizations, individuals, learn about their gifts and that makes them very vulnerable.

The corps are designed to give mutual protection - Force users are always targeted by unscrupulous scientific organizations, looking to understated secrets that they do not deserve to know. There are also religious fanatics, murders, pirates, outlaws, of course - but most of all, it is people who wants to perform experiments, chop them up and graft their parts to others, isolate their genes, clone them, test their boundaries. You've heard of Ambellon Corp, Absecveus, The Lucife, the Fgotho system's Pillars of Reason, and the Collegiate of Light and Logic, the 10 Population Stock Monopolies of Hjade Blue, the list goes on, the scandals, the old crimes, and of course Harsh Dawn, the mysterious group rumored to have government ties both to Legion Six and the pseudo informal-governmental House of Transcendence. It's a risky world out there; I guarantee within months people will know about your abilities.

"Harsh Dawn... Oh yeah I've heard all about them. You know they're suppose to be behind the disappearance of the Singing Rock Colonies on Besiquido – to get test subjects apparently. And some say the assassination of Chan - "

"Carth, I never took you to be the conspiracy theorist type!"

"I'm not - it's just alot of stuff matches up a little too well for my comfort."

"You're kind of a paranoid guy; I've noticed that about you -"

Revan looked at both while they were talking and then interrupted, "Besides Mab.. ah.. . when I said you might not get trained, that it was unlikely, that didn't mean you wouldn't be with the Jedi at all."

'Well what would I do there?"

"You might be kept at the Council seat at Corusant."

"Why?"

"This bond between us is of grave importance and needs to thoroughly examined. This may take months before it is fully understood, and then hopefully broken. Otherwise you pose a great risk to state security. Surely you can understand this."

"Yeah...I guess I can."

"Good -"

"Maybe while I'm there you can teach me a couple tricks or something."

"Tricks... I... perhaps. And perhaps I can see about getting you into Healing Corps; they often focus on the poor and downtrodden. That's kind of like a journalist. Maybe I can teach you", his eyes twinkling slightly, "how to really get the scoop from someone. Or write notes down without ever moving your fingers. Or...what is the common criticism of Republic media - put words into peoples mouths. Would that be a good skill?"

"I'm pretty good at that already. Right Carth -" she elbowed him in the side 'Mister: Yes I do believe Mab is quite amazing'"

Carth laughed.

"Well we will see when we come to that point - decide when we get there. I can't guarantee full training though. Not yet. "

"I'll take whatever I can get. I'm really interested. "

* * *

He nodded at her "Noted" and looked away.

"After we set up at the village, I'll send WM back to pick up nine or ten of the rakghouls and bring them to us – Serik or one other person should probably go with him."

Revan said this by the entrance to the village, which was surrounded by four slain monsters that they had just recently battled. Further back there were three more groups of relatively the same size, spaced at even intervals in the tunnel (the tunnel which was covered in graffiti and glowing slogans that Revan quickly warned them not to look at, or illuminate; [he would push away their heads or nudge the floating searchlights when they pointed in a certain direction, strange letters or symbols almost fully revealed] T3-M4 and WM-33 stared at few of them and each time they slowed down to a leisurely crawl, languid, like moving through molasses -

"Realization: I believe I know what pain is master – it only makes me even more eager to inflict it on others."

"So it gives you an headache if you look at it?"

"It gives _droids_ a headache if they look at it" Revan said, trailing off ominously and emphasizing the droids part.) although the one directly in the middle was slightly larger; they had been walked along, and swarming above at a certain point was a mass of the gray creatures, in a sickening clump – before Revan could say anything, one of the rakghouls had dropped out of it's upside down crouch, and hung vertically, behind Mission, (obviously the smallest and lightest member of the group) silently, and then quickly hooked it's arms under hers, yanking her up effortlessly into the squirming bunch, burying her in the pile of flesh that clawed and grabbed uselessly at the metal of her suit as she screamed, completely enveloped. They had grabbed and poked at the pile, Carth carefully aiming his pistols. Finally the girl had fallen, along with the corpses of the rakghouls, spread eagle onto the ground with a thump.

"It's fine, it's fine, they couldn't have hurt of you."

"Still," she whimpered ," The weight of them all over – and one was directly over my face plate, smashing itself against it...drooling!"

"It's over now Mission" said Revan, leaning over them protectively – both of the girl, and strangely, of his relationship with her, as if what Mab was doing was his responsibly alone; she was interfering**, **meddling. They got up, all three, and then walked to where they were now, the ladder into the floor of the tunnel, a medium sized pit with metal bars continuing down. "WM there's a hole a little further down – drop in there... Okay, for the rest of us, lets start going."

Carth went first, then Mission, and then Mab, as the **twe-lik's leekus** disappeared, cut of from sight by the rough sides of the hole. The ladder descended through an open space, directly down the middle of it, and was surrounded, a certain points rather closely by pieces of sparking, fierily glowing (blue) conductors engraved with wires and chips, objects resembling circuit boards, looking like computer systems, some areas wrapped around completely, a cylinder, a tube, others only with noncontinuous bits and chunks, the abyss revealed behind. The energy that came off the machinery felt strange, and pulled at Mab's skin and clothes. She was reaching what appeared to be a second floor, the bottom, which the ladder continued on through – she paused for a second, in an unenclosed area and perched herself, arms extended, leaning off, staring into the wide expanse that surrounded them: a room that went on in all directions beyond view, and the column which she was inside and part of it, blasting off bolts of lighting that twisted and arched - a chill wind ruffled her and made the ladder creak and groan. Finally she reached the base and began to go on, past it - she stared beneath her she went - the ladder, now bare of it's metallic shell, stopped soon, but she saw nothing to land on, to step of on.

Confused, she persisted hesitantly, until suddenly, immediately after her last step, gravity reversed itself: her head was now pointing down, her feet in the air - she lost balance and fell forward, towards the other side of the second floor, which she had just passed, which she now realized resembled dirt. A portal closed over the hole, stopping her from falling through, and she hit it and rolled off, utterly bewildered and lost. She stumbled away on her hands and knees, scrambling; it slid open once again. Her head spun and she was consumed with vertigo, and moved without reason or though, face contorted with bafflement, but after she got her sense of up and down, directions figured it, and perceptions reorganized, she began to understand the environment.

She was in the outcast village - shanties and small houses and tents surrounded her, clusters of them by a generator, a pillar with machinery attached to, modified onto it, or a medium sized shield. The village was built in a tunnel; above them, in an surreal sight, sewage water rushed, splashing, small trickles and streams occasionally lapping up vigorously enough that drops of them, spray would fly above the channel, reach a certain point, float for a second, as if undecided, and then fall down onto the town. Occasionally a string of water, a whip of it, would shoot up through the natural movements of the river, hit the magical point, and the cascade down, a line, a strip of waste descending. Mab realized two unrelated things: rooftops because of this had sheets stretched over them tight, and elaborate gutters that would direct the water into various pots, cups and special containers attached to machines - gutters and trenches lined the streets - also Mab at the moment of looking at the river, saw that the garbage stream coursed over a disgusting mound in it's center, directly above the village, a furry green hill that just extended a few meters before the gravity reversal line.

The hole, which was located in the center of the village, the ladder extending straight into the air and then suddenly stopping, a odd sight, was once again the site of action, after Serik collapsed out, looking very discombobulated – Revan shot up the ladder (from Mab's perspective) reached the end, blasted off barreling, his momentum causing him to fly up into the air, above the tops of most houses (he had slid down the ladder at high speeds) and at the peak of his height beginning to somersault in the air, doing a few more rolls before landing on his feet, one hand also touching the ground at impact.

They all gathered near a small house by the ladder, WM-33 already there (Carth, in the few moments they had before this told how WM-33 had shot out of a crack in the "ground" past the outskirts of the village ,dropped towards the river, then activated his jets, and gently floated towards the town's border, until the reversed gravity became prominent. "Isn't it amazing Mab – a town in the ceiling of a tunnel, but up is down and down is up because it was built on a Form IV Generator- the type of which I have never seen before- one whose field of influence fades after such a small radius, creating this strange world of contrasts, such a weird one.")

Moments after arriving, they had already attracted the attention of the Under City dwellers; some robed in wet dripping cloth to cool them off, linen trailing behind them like bridal trains, wearing gas masks and face wrappings, walked towards them curiously, others had rusty exoskeletons, thick beams of steal like building supports on their bodies, tightly against bare skin – there were inhabitants with shining tattoos on their bodies, and others with suits in bits, connected with wires or pieces of thin shields - a few were dressed simply in rags and pulled large bulky devices behind them in carts or wagons, or the machines were strapped to their backs or in modular pieces in various sling carriers on their bodies like children in pouches- a few simply stared from a distance, from the edge of their house or neighborhood, peeking in interest, not daring to go any further, beyond their bubble.

Mab looked around as they began to gather a small crowd - there were various interesting things to catch her eye – there were three towers, each with a dense array of mechanic contraptions at the top, with a long beam coming off each that looked like a crane, except pointed straight up – these towers, operators busy at work, pushing buttons and manipulating them with levers, would poke the extensions into the mold, piecing it, and dexterous claws would grab small chunks and crumbs - she also noticed the "sky" was filled with several hot air balloons, tiny things, trailing small baskets and metal tanks, that would float up, reach the point, and then plummet into the river. There were also channels and gullies on the ground, past the layer of dirt, which was cleared away at these spots, carved into the rock. They started at outhouses and people's abodes, and then sloped away, intersecting and multiplying, until they reached the edge of the village, at which point they suddenly became waterfalls, and ascended into the air, rippling waves into the sky - the **outskirts** of the village was marked on all sides, its entire boundary, by these ribbons of black and brown.

A small man pushed by past the mob that was forming, encircling them, staring, some almost ready to talk, mustering up the courage, beginning to form sentences, the start of them almost stuttered out - but those individuals were cut off, interrupted by the loud squawking of the elderly leader - "You are from above, yes? And unbooted as well? Visitors of your own free will?" The old man, most of his body replaced with whirling gears, especially his heart, which was one compact bunch, revolving tightly, grinding against each other, hobbled over on two gnarled staffs, and stared at them closely.

"Yes. We are on a quest of sorts. We wish to stay here for a while, if you allow it. " said Revan, nodded deferentially.

"Whats that?" shouted the old man, cocking his head towards them – both ears, the outer flesh, were replaced with gigantic trumpets, beautifully made, delicate, but tarnished, the brass dull.

"Shelter. We seek it."

The man stared at them a minute longer, and then turned, walking away. "Never in my life.... A Jedi... This is a magnificent day. Well FOLLOW ME!"

The crowd parted.

* * *

They entered what seemed to be the main hall for the enclave, a squat but lengthy building, with another of the arms attached to it, the center of the roof - directly over a long table, which was in reach of the crane - made out of glass that could slide away to the sides. Revan turned to Mab, "even in the grips of the blackest desperation..."

The old man reached the end of the table and sat down- surrounded by a few objects burning, on top of metallic stands, bendy and pliable, By him closely where four individuals - beyond them in the shadows were many more, moving slightly and whispering, barely seen – although the prominent members of the village appeared normally formed and intelligent, those in back where strange, pale, with elongated limbs, and dumb inbred faces, filling the dark corners of the room completely, in a crush, like animals, like hidden crows in the belfry of a tower. "This is my council, the aldermen of this town" the old man said gesturing – " Malya is invited to our meeting as well, (a small silhouette farther away waved to them) although she is not a native of this village.. She is still a guest, of some importance. We all outcasts, booted exce-"

One of the men sitting down, wearing a short, ugly pageboy haircut, and blocky fringe bangs, with an almost sickeningly wide smile, cynical and twisted, hoisted his feet onto the table, dropping them with a thump. They indeed had boots on them, metallic and tightly clamped -"It's our mark. Forcefully applied, never removed. Shows to what caste we belong, what crime we committed. Treason..."

"Yes" the old man continued, smiling tolerantly at the man, " is indeed a brand, attached hot as well, if I remember correctly, boiling metallic liquid. Well as I was saying, we're outcasts from above, except Grandosis here, " he gestured to a large black man, badly burnt, with tight dry skin that cracked on the left side of his face "he, our town guard, was raised in the Under City, in a relatively sane settlement, so he kept what it means to be human. He is still sentient - unlike some of the people we are charged to look after " at this, a hooting laugh, fitting perfectly, came from the darkness, braying, senseless, and devolved into a giggle as two of the shadows began mock fighting with each other.

"So, why are you here? I remember something about shelter?"

"We are working with rakghouls, examining them."

"My lord..." awe came onto his wrinkled prune of a face ,"a cure?"

"Eventually" said Revan, straight faced. "To do this we need to set up a base of operations here."

"Why certainty" said the old man standing up in excitement, in a fluster, "wha- whatever you need!" Eyes wide and bright he stared at everyone more then once flicking his face back and forth energetically. "There is a opening near the southwest of this town- an old house was knocked down for spare parts. Go there, you should have all the space you need. Do you require.. . shields, generators, something along those lines?"

"No we posses everything we need. But thank you. "

"Should we worry about anything?" said a dangerous, graying man with a mustache, carrying a wooden sword, "Will this attract the attention of anything we would normally hope to avoid?"

"No we are secret down here. But even if it did – have you seen the War Droid? You'll be perfectly fine" said Revan dismissively, lifting a lip slightly, emasculating the warrior. Revan walked towards the end of the building, pushed open the doors and then stared back at them, arms held out, cloak hanging "Now I thank you for all help. We will be bringing the copses of rakghouls here. Do not be alarmed."

* * *

As they set up the plastic tent, laying it down and activating certain boxes, connecting cords, and pumping tubes, Serik, WM, and T3 left to collect enough rakghouls for the doctor to study. Orsacrid Meedle, the forth council member, a Bith with a helmet composed of foil and wires on it's large bloated head, watched them, intrigued - the drove of villagers observed as well, although not like him with interest and intelligent curiosity, but simply dumbly, grinning and slathering and stumblingly over themselves - although a few others were booted as well, or seemed healthy enough to know what was going on. A young girl, no eyes where they should be, and another boy, of similar form, but even worse, resembling a fish, struggled with each other - Orsacrid caught Carth staring and looked at the sadly ,"We have been working for years, since the village was founded, to breed the degenerates out. But our stock from above is not plentiful enough- and so we stuck we these imbeciles. There are a few smart ones however, and most can be trained - to provide a work force. But please forgive us for not being able to give you with any assistance. I know you think badly-" Mab pulling on a cable, another tight in her teeth, looked back and mumbled, clenching her jaw, "No really, it's not a big deal."

"Thank you for your kindness."

The second group returned, Serik and T3 on WM-33's back, in the pilot alcove, as it carried, piled in both hands, two stacks of sealed stretchers, one on top of the other, plastic half tubes with bodies inside. The droid set them down, and Serik clambered off - they began loading pieces, one at a time, of equipment out of the WM into the newly constructed tent, in a flurry of activity, Serik directing it.

"No that goes there, careful careful- be gentle MabArgonberth

! - yes in the corner, connect it with the other system - this is the important piece, I need it front and center - remember to close the flap behind you, we need a good seal until the shield goes up." They rushed back and forth placing boxes and tables and immobilized droids in every space of the building, an entire laboratory slowly growing and connecting together, holograms and lights flicking on - in the center of the building they assembled a tall thin tower, that popped through the top of the tent, and connected to the set of floating lights, siphoning power off them. Serik ran around typing commands into computers, messing with images that floated near him, rearranging them, or shouted commands out, the machines registering the codes and orders.

* * *

Mab sat at a small table in a hut, talking to a women with nothing but a long ponytail on her head down her back; she wore a collection of nimbus's, clouds, that obscured the rest of her body - they nauseated Mab, and she figured that their protection came at a price; the woman's teeth were missing, and she was frail and birdlike - the harmful energy had not, however, killed the large starfish creature on the side of her face.

"What I'm worried is what happens the day that mold finally bursts? And an explosion of spores flies at us, rains down on us? It's happened before, in the other mold cities. It is an inevitable eventuality. Gordholm, it bursts, we lose contact the very next day; Foestdowns, the closet thing to a paradise down here - the mold gave of gases, kind of like ours, but even more, so the whole city could float above it; it was a collection of airplanes and levitating houses and blimps that sucked in the air - and the biggest buildings could still be up there, they'd just balance on a single long strand of hair, and that, along with buoyancy of the air would be enough to support them, the thin beams bending slightly. That one exploded too, when it got fat enough. What happened to them? I think the mold...went inside them. Got to them. Changed them, maybe." she said, subconsciously touching the starfish on her face, as if to remark, "and I know all about that" or if she, because of her curse, realized the dangers, was more aware of what could come and the terror of it, then anyone else.

* * *

"It's a nice little system you got here." said Mab, Carth nodding.

"Thanks – it's a struggle, everyday something goes wrong, or there's a job that needs to be done."

'Yeah but still, I mean the hot air balloons and the channels that get rid of your waste (which isn't just lost, but given back into the river, which helps the mold grow) and then on the edge of the city you got those security systems." she pointed by the border; underneath the dirt were outlines of traps, their purpose and design only vaguely explained.

"Don't forget our failsafe." He said, and hit a stick of metal poking out of the ground, curved and thick, and gestured to various others within view, scattered about the village; not all coming out of the ground; some out of buildings, horizontally, others on roofs.

'No one ever explained those to me."

"It's a last resort. We cut the power to the gravity system, if we're overwhelmed, and all the rakghouls fly up into the river while we hold on. After awhile we turn it back on. There's cables everywhere leading to it, so anyone, wherever they are, can sever them with the edge of a shovel or a sword."

* * *

The four mentally retarded villagers moved forward slowly, connected to a rotating shaft, turning to it.

"It doesn't bother and they're happy to help" said the large human, corpulent with a huge stomach only barely held back by a dirty apron. "Isn't that right, don't you love helping mommy!" she murmured in baby talk to one of them- a tiny Rodian paused and rubbed it's head fondly against her hand, slavering on it, tongue moving about wetly against the skin.

* * *

"Yes, I was a revolutionary, one of many. {So were Bathom and Fubenstesca, and Cryclindar (only one of them is on the Council, the rest keep to themselves)}. I think the old man, Sebastian, was a high ranking member of The Exchange...he doesn't talk about it a lot though.}

They came for me in the night. The cowards. The system was rotten. It had to go. But all that was needed was for the people to understand what freedom meant. And for trying that, they condemned me here" Ezekiel, the man with the pageboy haircutm said, passionately, more intense then bitter, eyes wide.

Mab: "Do you sometimes dream - Manifest!"

"There's a breach!" Three rakghouls burst through the ground, clawing, heads smashed from the senseless fall, ripping aside the chunks of dirt – they had appeared near the edge of the village, and slithered out through the crack. A guard of the town, ran near them, and then leaned down and pulled on a rope – out of the dirt sprung up a line of metal poles, tipped with large squares - the creatures were hit in their faces and and thrown backwards out of the village, so they flew up into the air, splashing into the river. Two of them were immediately swallowed up, struggling, but one, tenaciously, persistent, swam forward and leapt - it did not reach the gravity point and so plummeted back into the river but it tried again, snarling and this time it began falling, jaws wide, towards the town - in a tall wooden tower, a watcher pulled back a gigantic arrow, girth like a rocket, on a thick bow and shot it; the arrow launched into the rakghouls chest and the force was so great the beast was knocked back up slightly - its flailing feet swung above the invisible line, it seemed to hover for a moment, suspended, and then it slowly drifted head over heel a few rotations and fell full speed into the river, this time disappearing for good, washed away.

* * *

It was four days since they first set up camp; Mab after another day of speaking with the villagers, casually, to pass the time, both in groups and one and one, easing into conversations, walked back to the tent, wishing for some isolation from the town and a change in scenery. Poking out of the peak, which was a opened plastic flap, was the top of mechanical pole, which revolved as a laser shot out of it. It spun so quickly it seemed a blurry red cone surrounded the medical lab- Mab walked up to it, inches away and spoke clearly, "disable." It flicked out of existence, (another turned on at the exact moment, closer to the tent, at a more acuteangle) and Mab moved up- the process happened again, reversed. The inner laser shut down and the outer perimeter was once again in place.

Entering the tent, she looked at Revan sitting down, compiling data, helping and Serik rushing back and forth from device to device and decided to join them. She sat down and pulled off her boots, helmets, and gauntlets and then said "Hey professor, how can I assist?"

Serik, not tearing his head away from the wave of heat that blew up in front of his face, rippling, and waiving visibly like a flag rolling said "There is large amount of information " He placed his right hand in a small, flat tub of water, dividing up into multiple tiny squares, each separate from the other, even though they were in the same pail, some glowing blue, some red, a few bubbling but the rest of the surfaces slick and smooth "coming in and to be safe it should be organized- it's all rushing in at once, finally, after such a dry spell up at the mansion - I have prepared the systems, yes, but still, now the computers may need to watched - I need you to look over what you are given and see if everything appears to be okay. T3 will instruct you how."

The small droid – who also looked busy, more compact then usual and flickering and beeping, rolled up to her and began tweeting away. "Well, let's have at it. Send it my way" after Mab had listened, picking up quickly what she had to do, most of it already standard information management, one of the fundamentals learned in The Military.

Immediately the air around her began to glow as holograms popped up, some out of thin air, off the ground or descending slowly from the ceiling, like a grate dropping, some appearing suddenly in the middle of the air, unfolding elegantly like the petals of flowers, blossoming, but strangely, the movements and motions of them as they grew trippy, opening up in an counter intuitive manner, intricate origamis undone, some spinning into being - others off of stands, metals poles, rolling out of their sides, unfurling like a pulled screen, or projecting from various rectangles, tri-pods, and disks surrounding her, some off of random objects that didn't seem important at all, the area so crowded and cluttered she really never knew what items they could be coming from, and they surprised her, popping out of piles, out of nowhere, rolling from inconspicuous devices buried beneath a mess, from all directions. She grabbed and threw them into various boxes and slots, watched logic processes slowed down for her edification scroll by, examined the computers lines of reasoning, looked at evidence and observations to make sure there were no breaks or contradictions, and so forth; dealing with massive amount of raw info they had obtained - and were still obtaining, as floating scalpels and mechanic arms continued to cut and slice and extract, the rakgouls lying in the corner of the room - and every few moments, a bright flash, of one color or another would go off, blinding everyone, and even more representation of the monster's bodies would came into being. This went on for several hours, the three doing basically the same thing, Serik occasionally employing more creative, intuitive processes and instructing specific experiments, or getting up and working with the equipment directly, until, suddenly Mission and Carth at each side of a small child-like woman, looking excited, burst in.

The young woman, short bob of jet black hair, with a pink bow on top (another one through her nose, part of it bone) had a stack of thin, neat books under one arm, and a bunch of scrolls and rolled up maps, overflowing in the crook of the other. Surrounding her, fluttering like fairies, where ten or elven short metallic stakes, kept aloft as they spun quickly, blades whisking through the air on their tops, the tassels and ribbons attached going around with them - as she entered they slowed down and slid into various pockets and holsters covering her body - one weakly kept flying and bobbling near her side and she grabbed it, in her fist, and shoved it into a belt loop. "Hey, you guys should listen to this when you get the chance" said Carth, and gestured to the woman to sit down, if they made her wait.

"Carth what is it?

"Not – well I'm not sure. I think it's really important though. I could be, it definitely could be.

Revan paused the flurry of visuals flying around him by pinching his fingers together and dragging them diagonally, creating a large yellow box that froze everything inside, got up, cracked his neck and stared unblinking at the woman as he walked nearer. Mab also stood, glad she could take a break; Serik still typing and poking, slowed down slightly, and wheeled in closer as well, leaving his station, the projections now coming off of his chair. Carth pulled a small table by the woman and she scooted up slightly, lying some of her possessions down.

"You were at the meeting" said Revan. "Your name.. Mayla"

"I'm surprised you remembered" she said in a surprising croaky voice, and Mab had to quickly rethink her first impression of the female; she was small yes, but not girly or fragile - she had a wiry muscle frame, a thin mustache, and the bob was not, as appeared from the side, a cute pixie cut, but rather a butch, rough slicing. Overall, Mayla presented a very odd, conflicting image.

"Don't be." replied Revan smartly, weaving his hand and then sat down as well, in front of her.

"Well Mayla here, she comes from a village farther north and she set out - why don't you tell it?"

"Okay... like Carth said, I was born further north, a very long journey away - at least for me and my kind, in this terrain. I do not know how it goes for you...up there. Anyways, since I was child, I was the apprentice of an old man in my town named Rukil. He was half cleric, half madman... his religion, his drug...his hope, was that there was this Promised Land, waiting for us, if only we looked hard enough. Protected from the elements, with a self sustaining droid population and **acres **of food production capacities. He dedicated his whole life to finding it. "

"That seems reasonable enough - people will believe anything, no matter how unlikely, as long as it makes them feel better."

"Hey man, that's what I thought too, but I figured I might as well seize on it - at least I would get to travel a little bit, have a little bit of adventure. Beats staying in the village and rotting away. And if I died just like Rukil's father and grandfather..." She clucked her tongue and shrugged. "But it turns out... there's truth to this myth."

Revan raised an eyebrow.

"Undeniable truth. I've journeyed wide and far, all across this world of mine, encountered things I'd never thought I'd live to see, and I've collected many documents and maps, at great expense" (It was then, that Mab, looking down, saw that Malaya was missing a leg and in it's place she had a intricately carved fake one, out of wood, fashioned with thick claws at that end, the whole thing sturdy and fearsome.) "and... I believe I've discovered the location of this Promised Land. I've gathered the clues and triangulated directions: coordinates and trails and references have come together." She began pulling out more maps, out of her bustierand a prim organized satchel, and shoved them on the table, showing circled areas, drawn lines and arrows, pictures of legends: elaborate monsters and towers covered in reams of scribbled notes, mathematical equations with bits of string still hanging from them, and then would grab one and gesture to it as she talked, push it away and seize another, occasional holding them up in the air and shaking them.

"You see this last leg of the odyssey has provided me with the final pieces I need, from these maps and journals... and even the prophecies and holy writs... It all fits into one whole. I actually passed the Promised Land on my way here... it's about a week and half away."

"...And?" Revan said finally.

"And? It's a week and a half away with your help and that fantastic droid. I need all of you. I can't do it myself. The territory that needs to be crossed to get there... I just can't do it alone! Only the greatest collection of Undercity heroes , assembled for the epic mission could, after searching for the various swords and gun of legend, equipping themselves with the armor of dead kings, purifying their bodies in the forgotten clinics and labs. You, you have modern current day technology. You equal them simply by that merit. I need upwordlers! Myself... I'm done for basically. I can't go on any longer. I was the closet to death I've ever been and I know my limits know..

I spent three months with the Cannibal Farmers. Now I don't want to talk about but... I think you get the drift. " She paused for a second, thinking they were still unconvinced, and then ripped up her shirt, revealing a heavy bandaged chest – the stomach covered in a tattoo of a twisted, wretched hand, pointing up, holding in it's claw a heart- one that pulsated and pumped, beating as they stared.

"It's the tracking device that is making it do that - it's still active, never managed to shut it down. But I'm completely out of their sphere of influence. It doesn't matter."

"Look, we admire all you're be doing for the people of this land, but we can't risk our lives, and all that is riding on them for a myth."

"It's not a myth. I have concrete proof! Who's knows what is lost here! Why is it not possible!" she said, dropping her shirt and gesturing violently, at the table.

"You say... this Promised Land is self sustaining?"

"Yes... very technologically advanced. I have a few reports -" Serik waved at her as she briefly moved to grab at them, "Okay... well they say it has complete food production, droid factories of all types, advanced medical faculties, generators and shielding of the highest order."

"Medical..." whispered Serik thoughtfully. He paused for a second, staring down and stroking the end of his staff, which he had grabbed in both of his hands, as he began to become more drawn in, and then replied, "Revan perhaps we should investigate this."

"We don't have the capacities to make this lap mobile! Or should we leave you behind while you continue your research? Absurd!"

"No...When I was up in manor, it was like I was sightless. One sample size was all I had: I could work, but I missing so much. Now done here, I am cured... and these last few days, a whole new world has been revealed to me, everything offered freely, this boundless amount of rakghouls. The blind man can see. I have sated myself I have taken my fill! In the absence of the samples I planned what I would do when I finally gained this new "sense"; I constructed my theories and programs,long ago, with large essential pieces missing, that would be completed almost instantly after new data was inserted. I only needed a few days in a laboratory. The rest of this time I believe will be purely digital. That I can do on the back of WM-33, as we go towards the Promised Land. I truly have everything that is required.

The journey will take a week and a half, this human said- I think the serum will be completed a few days afterward, a rough form sometime before. If we arrive and there is nothing, we have only lost a little time - but if we do stumble across this Promised Land - surely they will have both the serum – not a cheap experimental one like mine that could cause harm but one perfected - and the cure there, along with the means to distribute them, and the power to save lives with it's additional side functions!"

"It is... simply to risky."

Serik stood up. "I am not leaving until I find a cure and the appropriate means to distribute across the Underworld."

"What?"

"I will never get the chance to come down here again. You can go but I am staying. If we don't set out on the journey, I will dwell here, and finish my work, and attempt to devise some means of propagating it. Unlike the serum, I need more tests subjects for the curse! This is the only way, if I don't do it no one will. Even if I bring the serum up, I wouldn't effect anything. If they design a cure topside, they'll never gather enough money to get even close to the Undercity. It wiped out my entire fortune just to finance a expedition. It would be useless up there, but down here... "

"Serik, you can't do that!" said Carth. "We need you. You promised to help us. I know it hurts to see this - " - "I question why you care" sneered Revan. "but if we concede to your demands... and don't call your bluff?" he said threatening.

"If we go to the dome and it gives the villagers the ability to set up some sort of protective region, heavily guarded, but nothing else, which it must at least do, I believe this girl, I see the fire in her eyes, I will return with you, assist you with your escape, and then come back down: surely with their enhanced strength the Undercity dwellers will be able to guarantee me and the related equipment safe passage. Perhaps T3 in this scenario can be left behind as well, I have already programmed him with several partitions and systems that would be helpful in administrating and deploying the cure when the time came. But rest assured, " he drew himself up to full height ,"You need me , or an approved substitute, on the spaceship - I am the only one who knows the proper conditions and environment to administer the serum - already I can tell it is unique and delicate! I always planned to stay down here, but before I was going to teach the droid regardless - now I see my knowledge can used as a bargaining chip. And use it I shall, if I must."

"Revan" said Mab "We can help these people. We have the power and ability to solve their problems. I've seen the maps, the land is harsh, no one but us can cross it - not unless they had army! This is an rare opportunity for them!"

"That droid is the key" said the women. "And your Jedi talents."

"It is too dangerous! We would be taking an incredible gamble!"

Serik was beginning to sound furious, not just oratorically intense "What gamble? I told you, I can work on the serum as we head towards the Promised Land. No time is lost. Besides it is a equal danger injecting the unfinished product."

"And what of the risks of the journey? Have you forgotten where we are?

"What can harm us with the war droid at our side?"

"Do you think we are invincible?

"We are stronger then most, and that gives us a responsibility!"

"We are in constant danger! You do not know the peril -"

Mab, trying to sound reasonable, stepped in between the two. "Revan, if we lead a small group towards this colony, or whatever it is, that group could head out in multiple directions, using the equipment from the Promised Land and pacify the Undercity, scatter in all directions, go off to every corner of the planet, visit the other enclaves. We wouldn't have to protect or watch after them after we got there, it is only be the journey to; we would deliver them, and after that we could leave right away and take the route most beneficial to us. Just getting them into this area is enough - they could then go back on their own and bring their village there -their family and friends-...their village and others! We could start a revolution."

Revan paused. "I will examine what evidence - what little evidence most likely - you have, Malya and come to a conclusion if it's possible this place even exists, which I find doubtful at the least. If it ----does... we go. We... owe them that. If not, we will not risk anything on insubstantial visions and hope. And that is final."

* * *

"And after we climb down the crags and descend through the ravine" Malya said, scanning a finger across the map, "we'll reach the desert – much too hot for any normal equipment to handle."

"Over the past day, I have been modifying WM. His shielding has always extended to surround his entire body, so a group of four or five will be able to ride on him in relative safety, but the enhancements I made should allow everything in tractor beams to be protected as well.

Throughout the course of their discussion, the session to plan how the journey was to go, Revan would leave periodically slip out of the small hut where a varying number of individuals gathered and discussed around a small wheel table, to the hanger like structure next door, linked through a unstable rickety hallway, where WM-33 loomed. The Jedi oversaw T3-M4 rove over the war machines body drilling and poking, as several assistants lifted massive pieces of armor and chassis off with thick chains, cranking huge gears to do so,. These chunks were suspended over afterwards, gigantic and bulky, as the sparks continued to fly. Occasionally Revan would depart the meeting for long extended periods of time, and they would find him scuttling across the droid, hanging and perching, in odd spots, crammed in, or upside down, shirtless and soaking with sweat, several tools in each hands. When he first told them what he was attempting to do, Carth and Mab were shocked:

"Okay first of all I can't believe you have tractor beam gun on him - normally those things are so big only ships carry them!"

"It is a compact one of my own design. But yes, it is mightily inconvenient - I only kept it in case a situation presented itself where it was needed. The power drain was far too large to use regularly."

"And that's what your doing now? Trying to make it more efficient. Well how?"

"Adding that among other qualities. It was always a little experiment of mine. It's pretty cutting edge, untested and new, so there is always room for improvement. I haven't had the leasure or need to work on it - now keep talking at the meeting, plan out our route, I'll check back in but I'll be with him (he gestured) most of the time."

Now near the end of all their plotting, Revan had informed them that the one thing really stopping them from going had been solved - most of the talk by that point was simply rehearsing what had already been spoken or elaborate predictions for how they journey would go in more detail.

"Excellent" said Malaya. "Well, the steeds and supplies are ready for the villagers who want to go with us - you have all you need us well?"

"Indeed" Revan nodded. The small alcove was crammed with nutritional rations and made comfortable enough for one person to sleep in (they would rest in shifts) and Serik's lab was compacted and reshaped into the from of a long rectangle- room for two rakghouls standing up, contained in small tubes, an array of computers, and one seat - it was attached to WM-33's back, resembling a houdah on some behemoth beast. WM-33, who was missing part of his hind, a set of pistons, part of a twisted metallic engine protruding out now was put back together, completely conscious as this occurred, arms and limbs shoved violently into sockets, body wretched into place, parts of his chest slammed where they belong, against his inner sections (to make due Revan had to create a primitive battering ram, hooked up to the ceiling. and use it to attach pieces onto the droid through force, lacking more advanced equipment, by letting the beam go. ) In fact Mab recalled walking in as Revan, on WM's shoulders, pumped a jack down vigorously - a piece of equipment the assistants had attached to WM-33, clicking it around it's neck, locking on - and it's head lifted up slowly, rotating as well, a few wires trailing, as it continued to talk. Later Revan had said WM-33 asked to be left turned on as it was dissected and thrown roughly back together, so that seemingly horrific process might give it insight and inspiration into new methods of torture - it was hard to tell if Revan was kidding or not.

"Well then" said Malya, who had been talking for most of the last six hours, surrounded by scraps of paper, holograms, and bowls filled with burning trash that where now down to the last pieces, ashes and soot taking up most of the composition, "I don't see any point of sticking around. My group just finished their naps too. Why don't we go right away?" By we she was not just referring to the uplanders, but a few of villagers: Ezekiel Bone wished to accompany them on their adventures as did five others as well, a sombre Sullustun, two Bothans, a large Cathar wearing a black fur hat, and thick robes, the hairs on both moving, growing and shrinking continuously, beads of liquid on them, and a female Rodian.

"I have to agree. I feel we're ready." Revan stood up, and Mab, Carth, and Mission did as well, Serik requiring a prod of the shoulder, as he was sleeping in the corner of the room. Malya swept all the paperwork into her bag, except for two, which she took, pulled on with both hands so they were straight and clean, and pressed against a metallic frame, two squares attached to together, resembling a lectern, a small piece of wood coming off the bottom. She picked it up in one hand and then motioned for them to leave; the people in the room began to file out one by one. Sebastian, who had been sitting with them the whole time, others members of the council occasionally joining him - the graying man at the moment at his at his elbow - grabbed Revan's hands outside of the house, wishing him luck. In his wheezy, weak voice, "The best blessing I can give you, Lord."

"Thank you for your kindness. This place has the ability to turn people into beasts - you have resisted that. The light of civilization still glows here. You should be commended for that." The Jedi Master said, shaking both of the man's hands once, and then letting go.

"It's true. We'll find this place, and when we do, I won't forget you. What you've done here... we'll be back. It is wasn't for you and the council, none of this would have happened in the first place." said Ezekiel.

"One learns not to live on hope in this world. But it seems - if ever, it seems like it could happen now. This could the hour. It's possible."

As they spoke, the rest of the gang climbed up on WM, Mission and Mab resting on opposite arms, just above the joint, Carth on a shoulder, Serik disappearing into the flap of the tent, and Revan, after having his say, beginning to ascend as well, eventually reaching the area on the top of the alcove, next to the droid's head. The underworlders jumped on their transportation, untying them from the posts outside the house, and taking their raw hide reins in their hands; strange reptilian horses/spiders, their necks long and stretchy, the skin of it delicate and almost transparent, a greenish-white - when the head was lifted up, the area underneath pulled tight, and one can see fragile veins and the beginning of the esophagus. Malaya settled on hers, slipping her feet in the footholds and attaching her map stand ahead of her, and Ezekiel mounted his, tying a scabbard for a pump flechette to the side - the Bothans rode double, as did the Cathar and the Rodian, the Rodian sitting sidesaddle.

The creatures were said never to tire, and eat garbage, mostly in wet, liquid form - they could slurp it as they ran, flexible bodies extending and reaching down. They were remnants of various genetic breeding programs, the artificial lines and species preserved in some parts by tribes and villages, still possessing the special traits, when tended to properly, that they were created for.

The began to walk leisurely down the path through the middle of the village towards the edge, the intelligent members following them from both sides. They stopped near Grandosis, kneeling, Sebastian joining up with him - the large man held in his hands the town's only computer, connecting to a square of wire and cable, one section of the most larger cord that ran through the whole town. "When a large group wants to leave, we fiddle around with the gravity warp a little. Hit the outskirts of the village, and then keep going. You won't fall in the river, in fact you'll move up a little. Float forward until you reach the crack - that's how we come and go. From there you can just keep moving, that large open area is pretty safe actually. " He hit a couple more keys and glowing visuals on the screen, and they went on by - the same crowd shouting their farewells, mostly to the riders on the ground.

A few guards holding rifles or bows lined up in a formal row, and slammed them against the ground respectfully, keeping their bodies rigid. A female with an extra head out of her neck blew a kiss - a couple idiots stood restrained and sombre, as a large women, most likely their mother, held sturdy hands on their shoulders As they reached the edge, something flew through the air, aimed towards Ezekiel, most likely - it was a rose, and he caught it in one uplifted, heavily bandaged hand. Flowers, or living things of equal beauty and rarity, such as fruit, things no one would expect to find, that were miracles by their very existence down there, were often thrown at the beginnings of journeys of impassible odds in the search of hope and dreams, with the potential of incredible outcomes and payoffs. Mab blinked at it, and for a moment , a vision as clear and vibrant as reality formed in her head: it was the scene of a building, the hundredth or five hundredth floor, broken open in various spots, the ceilings destroyed and mangled - everything ripped, cracked, and disorderly, rubble and supports scattered about, so torn open it had the wide atmosphere of cathedral, and a single beam of light, rich and golden, somehow, impossibly, wondrously, had managed to fall all the way, hitting a flower rising out of a pile of trash, illuminating it beautifully. Mab stared in astonishment, her eyes teary.

They reached the edge of the nameless enclave, the slow moving procession receiving it's final goodbyes, and then continued, taking a step of faith. True to Grandosis' words they did not plummet, but went on, WM-33's jets activating, pushing him forward, but not needed. The steeds continued to kick their legs, as if they were flying through the motion. They went upwards at angle, gradually ascending, and reached the wide crack in the ground, levitating through it. A couple meters past it, the pull of their bodies stopped, and they dropped to the ground.

The group began trek through the open landscape, cold and blue.

* * *

It was the third day of traveling through the elaborate honeycomb of rooms, each barely large enough to fit WM-33, each one after the last basically the same size and dimensions, almost identical. Some had strange furniture, markings (murals and painting included), were composed out of different materials, or damaged in certain ways, and these seemed to act as directions and identifications of location to the underworlds. There were jade statues in a few, or walls made out of thin paper - some rooms were off centered and at angles - others had tiny pieces of decoration, small chairs and desks, or on the contrast giant beds, that they had to crawl around or lift and tip against the wall. The color of the rooms was another factor, as was the number of exits and entrances, although these weren't always obvious at first - either they were hidden, secret panels and doorways, or the species that had colonized this area had a different definition of door; rippling mirrors on some walls, dark pits crammed with obscuring and oftentimes moving objects, spinning windows, spouts of steam and water designating were one had to step through. Specific machines made many unique, their properties and arrangements the hints as to where they were. Most however simply had symbols, carvings or a few numbers of one of the walls, inconspicuous - Malya often checked these during the infrequent times they got lost and had to double back.

"I think we should get to the surface soon" (they were still at equal level, relatively, to the gravity warp room, which was underground) "We may have a more open area to navigate, which will allow us to take advantage of WM's speed." said Revan, to Malaya. "Besides... the cramped quarters are making everyone nervous." he continued, calmly, blandly, to assure that he was excluded from the group experiencing those feelings.

"There should be a series of skylights coming up soon. We can break through them to the top -"

"Great, I prefer going around buildings, then through them." responded Carth.

"Yes. It can be faster, although oftentimes there are more obstacles to transverse then in these contained environments. I guess you as overworlders aren't used to places like this though. We're almost there."

They passed through another room, the sides covered in shelves of bunk beds - the bunker when occupied (which appeared to be long ago) would have been absolutely crowded.

"How does this happen? How does it spiral this much out of control? Did they not understand -" said Carth.

"Oh, they understood." said Serik, who was taking a break - during which he had been staring thoughtfully to a side and occasionally hitting a button above the droid with his staff to open a door for them, or lower a room. "They understood completely. No one knows how it began, how it got to this point, but they fully comprehended it's implications, what they had on their hands - when the survivors of The Great Crash - the first recorded apocalypse on Taris, the one that turned the past completely into myth - climbed out of their spires and towers, they renamed their planet Taris. In the ancient language Swallgull, Taris means prison. The Iron Prison. The Steel Cage. Bound in on all sides by bars, no large number allowed to escape into space; (or any number of aliens for that manner) after their society regrew once again, because of the insane traffic ringing the planet, an unpiercable atmosphere of metal was created, each driver too selfish and ego centered to allow himself to be coordinated for the good of the entire civilization, to stop moving for one second so a mass migration could occur... Taris... The City Cell. Someday however", he looked up, "someday, someone will engineer a escape from this asylum, this planet wide asylum." It was fortuitous he said this as he had, staring at the ceiling; they left one room, and entered another, and above them were the glass skylights, five layers of them, and his lifted head coincidentally matched up with them, eyes piecing the surface.

"Here we are." said Malya.

"Okay, let's climb... WM-33: sonic." the droid lifted his arm, and a excruciating loud boom of noise shot upwards, blasting all the skylights into slivers of glass, one immediately after the other. They covered themselves from the deluge, glass hitting and melting off the shields of the more protected upworlders.

"How are you going to get up there?" asked Revan. "We have jets, would you like us to -"

"No -" said the Rodian Merrastache, "Watch this." The riders readied themselves, each near a corner of the room, and then out of satchels on the sides of the animals, each one equipped in this manner, the rider pulled climbing equipment, clawed ropes. They threw them up, masterfully, seeming to know what they were doing, and then the underworlders pulled on their lines - when the ropes was taut the creatures began to scale the walls slowly, leaning back, their legs multi-jointed and flexible, scuttling up the sides like crabs; they were no longer simply pointing down vertically, off from the body; they twisted and began to come off of it radially, surrounding it at several angles, rotating slightly to do so. Once the animals reached the point where the rope ended, the rider would launch a second one, and continue on, occasional lobbing the ropes across the room and swinging over, or working together, either by one person throwing a rope straight across, and the other latching onto it, and then pulling themselves up and walking across like a high beam, or by connecting themselves , attaching the ropes to the each others packs. Through this way – quick and efficient - bouncing and scrambling back and froth, they reached the top - the final two climbed up, the last one in this pair throwing a hook and linking to the harness and being yanked up by it, dangling slightly, as the rider ahead ascended a couple more meters, onto the safe surface.

Mab and Carth looked at each other impressed, and WM-33 jetted up, in a gentle and controlled manner, touching down next to the riders. "This way" shouted Malya and they followed her, as she, the navigator, made corrections and examined her two most important maps, a small stub of a pencil in one hand, occasionally referencing to a small book. "We'll reach the crags soon - they are a series of tower, divided up into ridges, each one built higher then the other. A long time ago it was struck with a nuclear missive, the tops breaking off - they're jagged cliffs now. It will be dangerous work but we'll have to descend them - one wrong step and you'd be cut to ribbons. At the bottom we'll camp, and then set across that area - it is heavily radiated as well, unfortunately." They followed a trail that passed around two skyscrapers, through a relatively cleaned out building, and then through a section of alleyway created by five more buildings. Occasionally it became difficult to tell if they were inside or outside, but luckily the route was in contrast to what lay beyond it, dirt and trash, and chunks of walls, and even in some parts had railings.

It was obvious when they arrived at the cliffs; the land began to slope down gradually, and they passed through an area of ripped metal and steel, and reached a precipice. The land continued on however, at a nasty angle; it shouldn't have been that way, it should have been simply an impassible drop, but the years and the wars had fused together parts of the buildings, and everything was so close together, creating several ways down - abet treacherous ones. Although it was relatively open around this descending cliff, the city still continued above: a few spires lay over them, sideways, acting as a thick roof – which was also supported by a couple of the very pieces they would climb down on - where presumably the rest of this district, above, would come off of, resting on.

They walked to the gradual edge – one of the steeds pawed at the ground and a piece of upset metal crumbled away and tumbled down, bouncing. "Okay, we'll have to scale down – it should take us around six to seven hours." shouted Malya – the creatures reversed themselves, so they faced away from the cliff, and the rider began setting up, throwing spikes and magnetic clamps against the ground, connecting themselves together though a web of loose, slack ropes, short ones, which meant they would descend close together, in a clump. WM turned as well and stepped backward; it moved down and then got a firm, steady grip, it's feet and arms crushing into the metal and stone, imprinting it. The war droid began to slowly, carefully, one limb at a time, head towards the bottom, getting good handholds and footrests by pressing against the surface and molding it, leaving it's mark through force, occasionally shattering or breaking the material slightly.

Sometimes WM would flip it's position; crab walk vertically, facing out, and as it went so in an awkward manner, fire a barrage of rockets and lasers into the city before them. Most of the time however that was Carth's duty; with his holographic scopes he would aim forward and carefully pick off far away figures, holding their arms in their air above their heads or making other strange, exaggerated, almost ritualistic seeming gestures. Mab was not quite sure what Carth saw, as all she could distinguish in the radioactive, urban wasteland – unfolding at the base of the cliff - that shined with a baked in energy were shapes, blobs and blurs, vague figures, and standing humanoids, presumptively rakghouls, that glowed a slight sickly green color, an aura of death a few feet off the skin, an outline – whatever it was, it disturbed him, and he would look away pale faced and frightened.

The riders next to them inched down in a tight cluster, interconnected with a medley of ropes and devices, pickaxes in both hands (oftentimes mounted on the ends of their steed's legs as well, or the sides of their pack, positioned specifically, activated by a pull of a carefully set up cord to make them automatically snap into the surface) As they went, once in a while, the area under them was so jagged and sharp that it had to be cleared – either WM-33 was used for this, or they employed long staffs with shovels on the ends, snapping the spikes like breaking icicles - brushing them away - bending the pliable metal. This was occasionally done to create an area to rest, if a small plateau was come across - they sat and relaxed twice on tiny cleared off roofs/ridges (it was hard to tell sometimes.) The process was also performed (process because one had to be deliberate and thorough – they passed an area that they thought they had cleared and then the Cathar, Bogrraftern Raskgogive, roared in pain; an almost two dimensional, extraordinary thin pane of glass, sticking up, and practically invisible, had smoothy slid past, as he descended by it, his body and then pieced his face, fluidly slipping along into, cleanly slicing off a thin part of his cheek, They had to use part of the med-kit on him, sealing the wound) to break into buildings, when they wanted to drop through them, instead of climb the outsides. Rarely this happened; thirteen times for the entire climb, as most structures were dangerous, chaotic death traps, pits of blades – this route only chosen when Malya's references said the path was basically a safe tube, a fortunate shortcut, or there was no other way.

On their way down, Mab noticed Carth following something with interest on the crags a mile or two away; she touched him, asking what was so intriguing, and he held one gun near her, close to her face so she could look through the scope, which showed some kind of sentient humanoid, wearing armor and a jetpack, trying to fly up the side of the cliff, having to maneuver extremely laboriously and jerkily, as it was tight quarters, normal buildings bordering him from one side, deathly obstacles on the other. He turned slightly in the air, bobbling, dropping and hopping, as the flight device was primitive, operated by two buttons of joysticks held in the hands. Mission, and then two Bothans, who were the lowest in the climbing group, also peered through Mab's scope - Carth on the other hand, looked through his own, held closer, with a bigger magnification – "I can see the beads of sweat on his brow."

The person's manner of transportation was clumsy and inefficient and they watched with bated breath, gasping in alarm at his various actions that seemed to entail danger, worried from the very beginning of seeing him – "Oh!" "Watch out!" - "You don't see" - "He doesn't - the falling!" - "No, No!" Mission took an intake of hissing breath, emphatically putting her hands near his face. The Bothan couple moaned for a second, and the female was about to say something, until everyone shouted in vicarious shock - "He's going to hit that spike, he's facing the wrong away!" - "He's coming up right by it!" The man, revolving almost weightlessly, dreamily in the air – slow motion to Mab - rotated until a thin spike of metal slid through his gas tanks, like a knife through butter; he paused for a second, seeming to realize his doom, and then disappeared in a small explosion. The male Bothan shook his head sadly, and then said something to his wife - Mab looked down, vaguely disappointed.

On their journey they saw various strackgropes, one covering the entire side of a building that they climbed next to for an hour, bubbling slightly, matching the obsidian hue, gleaming like a dark mirror - they avoided them and other unknown, dangerous things through WM organic sensors, although the sadistic murder complained vigorously about avoiding fights. ("They're not even intelligent life, WM-33, where's the fun in that? You'd kill them easily." said Mab.

"Declaration: I'll find a way to enjoy myself. Maybe I could simply capture them and force them to fight against each other, in an arena."

"Out of the question."

"Statement: Very well master. Perhaps I'll just throw the little one at them, and make them battle? Betting starts in -"

"Doot doot reeeeeeeet!")

Halfway down to the bottom, a creature, that had somehow avoided all detection, resembling a goat, a tangled nest of horns growing away from it's head, completely surrounding it's cranium, each seemingly metallic, specked with chunks of devilishly sharp minerals - almost appearing to be made out of razor blades - with butcher knife teeth, silver and thick, and glowing red eyes, headbutted through the glass as the riders climbed past, and stuck it's skull against a strand of robe, near the Sullustan's mount, shaking it's head back and forth, ripping at it, gnawing at the line and the steeds shoulder blade with it's teeth as well. The fraying rope stretched, thinning and unweaving, and under a few more seconds of pressure snapped, sending the sullustan flying down. Several things at once; WM-33 dived downwards for the alien, plummeting quickly and extending it's arm, Ezekiel, next in line, now directly across from the hole in the building, pulled out his gun and made his steed limberly push off the glass - as it bounced away, he spun the end of his weapon with the slap of a hand, and then pumped it, shooting an explosive needle - the force of the blast caused him to fly away even more until he reached the end of his rope, the arc of the swing and began to fly upwards and forward from the momentum, at the area in front of him. He crashed through the glass, on his steed, a few stories above where the first hole appeared.

The sullustan falling shot it's only bungee line; it stretched to the limit rapidly and snapped – quick-thinkingly it wrapped a rope around his steeds leg, and then it threw upwards; the magnetic clamp landed briefly and got pulled, sliding off - he continued to tumble. He twined the ropes around both legs and tossed them again; the picks and grapples wrapped around a scaffolding support, held on briefly and then ripped a chunk of metal off - the creature's legs were twisted and snapped, making a sickening crunch, one torn away. WM-33 continued to fall, now holding out both hands out – Mission, Mab, Carth, and Revan held on the back, hair flying, looking and leaning forward. The sullustan, nearly missing a spike, and heading towards the top of a shattered tower, half melted, brushed it's fingers against its lip, pressed them to it's steeds head, closing it's eyes briefly, then rapidly encircled around the body of the steed all it's ropes, tightly, and threw them at once, one last time, towards WM.

From the area where Ezekiel crashed came the sound of a pumping gun, moans and shrieks, and then his scream; a rakghoul fell out of the side, and then he fell as well, stumbling, his steed staying up there. The remaining climbers raced up to the hole, weapons ready.

WM-33 caught the swarm of flying rope ends, tipped in multiple, different ways, and grabbed onto it tightly, activating it's jets, slowing down – the steed was gruesomely killed as it's body was suddenly decelerated by the ropes - it was crushed, oozing out grotesquely from the sides of the various dissecting and intersecting cords, encircling and constricting the entire mount; organs and guts exploding through as they pinched and tightened, eyes bulged and popped - mangled and contorted, softened and pulped; it's head cracked and twisted at a wrong angle – the rider at the moment allowed his inertia to continue his descent, falling backwards, arms outstretched; a bungee cord was attached to his tool belt, incorporated inside it, linked to the harness, and he continued, on the black elastic string as it unwound. WM slowed down even more, gently, jets powering up, blasts of fire exploding out, flipping through the air, so it was now feet first, and then it landed, grabbing the sullustan into it's hand – who had been bouncing back up - during this process, and letting him run up it.

Ezekiel fell, screaming, WM-33 now settled, looked upwards, and Revan shouted, "I don't know if the gravity gun can be activated in time!" The droid's body started rearranging itself swiftly, vents opening, parts popping and lifting, sections rotating, the entire left arm, held up, twisting and transforming by blocks, until lit became a large, open mouth silver gun. "It might not be warmed up in time, the power can not be routed, it's too dangerous to whoever does it!" Mab scrambled down the side, the droid continuing to shift it's body, these new parts letting out a bright blue glow, gun humming slightly,. She got on it's back to the newly opened slot, revealing a large rubber cable, in two parts. She grabbed both ends and slammed them into each other, connecting them - a burst of electricity ran through her body, shocking her, and she was thrown back by the force of it, into a wall of few feet away, hitting it, and causing a large sliver of glass to fall towards her from above. She caught it with both palms, fingers aimed up, the sharp end pointing near her crotch – Ezekiel fell towards the barrel of the gun - at the last moment, he began to slow down, flipping and twisting through the air – he was still going too fast however, and so right above it, the power increased noticeably and he stopped completely within a few seconds, large bruises appearing on his body, a trickle of blood dripping out of his nose.

Revan leapt off WM-33 and ran towards Mab, but then slowed down, his brief expression of worry settling back into blankness. "Put that aside carefully... you don't want to cut yourself, " he said and then turned back away. Mab got up and set down the pane of glass, and walked forward, brushing herself off, aching slightly – Carth looked her way and nodded; "Nice work." They watched the climbers descend until they reached them, bringing Ezekiel's steed along with them - they had gone up and dispatched the rakghouls, rescuing his mount. After a little while, they reached the uplander gang, and got resituated, the sullustun, Tack Tackathon, after saying a few words to the copse and pushing it over the side, getting on with Ezekiel.

"That was very close" said Ezekiel as they went, wide eyed.

"I'm sure Revan would have saved you!" said Mission. "Why didn't you just levitate him?"

Revan looked at Mission then stared gravely at Ezekiel and Malya. who was listening in. "Don't count on me... I think you overestimate how useful I can be." He then turned away, pulling on his hood, as to isolate himself.

After three hours they were near the bottom – there was one final skyscraper left, and it was made smooth, cleaned up, and a channel cut down the middle. They had planned for this – WM-33 reached into his back compartment, pulled out four gigantic spools of rope, and then slammed them against the edge, imbedding them in the surface. The riders switched out their current harnesses for a special set of equipment, slicker, black, with several extra knobs and protrusions on it, and attached the lines to them, preparing. WM-33 went first; extended its arm and legs so each one touched the edge of channel, and then slide down quickly, jets activating near the end, allowing it to land gracefully. The droid then brought out it's gravity gun again, this time not rushing, but gradually powering up, and fixed several sensors and scopes on the descending riders, ready in case anything happened, at the bottom. The riders climbed down quickly, bouncing their way to the bottom; they pushed off the walls, then landed further towards their goal, let more slack into the line, then pushed off again, and so forth. When they reached the bottom and unmounted they were all, uplanders included, satisfied and impressed with their work, as well as being exhausted. They looked around the area proudly and happily, spinning slightly - another skyscraper with a channel, across from the one that they had used, was close by, and between the two of them a small area was formed, littered with debris and remnants of old campsites, primitive fires, generators, tents, and one actual shield bubble, shrinking slightly, radius contracting every minute.

"Carth, could you destroy the spools please- I don't want anyone following us" - "Where do people go from here?" Carth nodded, perched on top on WM-33, held out both guns, the holograms now shifting slightly so they were off the side - several other glowing squares also moved around the guns, folding around them - and then projected the lasers for a few seconds of work. Revan walked away and Mab come beside him. "Is Calo Nord still following us?"

- "Normally" said Malya, "People hug the base of the cliff, and head north – not across the plains as we plan on doing. Also this is a starting point; the channels make a great area to get a good beginning; since they're relatively open and safe you can fly up for some ways."

- "Yes he is close by. Might as well not give him a hand, offer any assistance if we can avoid it...."

"When is he going to make his move?"

"He's biding his time, watching and planning. He is... insane... Rather demented... I can't quite -" he said this quietly, as it ashamed or angry, "predict what he is going to do. It probably has something to do with being one of the last Mandlorians. My info of him says he was with them until the end, and probably witnessed the beginning of the horror that is The Exile... was involved in the massacre... the event that ended the war - whatever that may have been – and annihilated most of his race."

'He's one of the last Mandlorians?"

"Well you don't hear about them a lot anymore, do you?"

* * *

They sat around the temperature equilibrium device, eating, WM-33 and T3 patrolling in circles, Serik's tent set on the ground, the flap open, Serik himself sitting in a chair half turned to the group, half working, in his lap a small glass box, with multiple compartments, tubes, and wheels inside, a handle on it, made for convenient carrying, of small hamster like creatures – he opened one of the sections up and delicately swallowed the rodent inside. Carth, Revan, Mission, and Mab ate nutritional paste, squeezing it out of a tube and washing it down with vitamin water, and the undercity dwellers consumed small crumbly pieces of mold and soaked hard, darker green patties of it, patched together and made rock solid, in thermos of sludgy black liquid - the Cathar with a slight modification on this meal had his crumbs covered in a stretchy, thin slime.

Ezekiel, Merrastache , Carth, and Mission were seated together, the revolutionary arguing vigorously and loudly. "And that's what drives me crazy – we kept them alive! Old savages and fools pushing buttons, entering commands, doing certain actions every few minutes – all the power plants, all the stations, all the forms of regulation and control, have their roots down here. The upper cities residents don't even realize it, we're what keeps them going. That's the sad thing, for all their technology, it's some person deep down in the lost world, pulling a lever or moving a disc from point a to point b once a day. If we stopped, it would all come crumbling down. They're reliant on us. Why does no one see that? The idiots, they've built religions around it basically. Whole cites by flashing light and vaults, and relay points, and forgotten environmental observations posts. Villages by steam shafts. Temples over computer systems - all ritualized, the rules in grimoires and tomes, and legends. You must do this or the gods will be angry. Basically one actually essential action hidden in a bunch of superstitions. Like stand on this spot and speak the code here, surrounded by tons of magical steps, elaborate ceremonies, dances, mystery plays, incantations, that somehow, ignorant of it, unknowingly, actually posses a small grain of usefulness."

Mab got up and walked over to them – Ezekiel looked up, acknowledged her, then continued. "I guess I'm just an bitter old atheist angry at all the sacrifices and and services the dwellers do."

"You would try to convince them to stop? How would that help?" said Carth.

"I think every rebel sent down here has the dream of gathering the undercity together and leading an uprising... haha. I would try to get them to relinquish the hold of religion, yes; one, it would free their minds, give them more time to actually work, build their lives, and two it would hurt the Overworld. We would be stronger, they would be weaker. We might be able to mount an invasion. "

"Really Ezekiel, how would you do that?" said Merrastache "Don't be silly. How would we control that world. How would we run it? We couldn't maintain the infrastructure. "

"Oh I don't want to rule them. Who cares. All I want is to lead a march up the world, twinning around the towers, until I reach the top. We would walk and journey, fighting all obstacles, obliterating all in our path. And when we reach the Upper City, the Republic would learn of our existence, just how bad it is. We would show it to the galaxy at large; demonstrate it. Our voices would heard. They would have to do something. It would be an epic odyssey, full of peril and danger. The Tarisan government would try to stop us at every step of the way, growing more and more desperate. But we wouldn't just be a few people, carrying terrible secrets. The Republic couldn't ignore us."

"Has anyone tried this? Has this ever happened before?"

"Occasionally there has been some small scattered groups of underworlders, led by revolutionaries, who made it up to certain points – just to strike out senselessly, not to do what I planned - and they have failed because the _logistics_ to move an entire army on the constant offensive, to make that journey, is almost impossible.

Only one, a legend, the giant, has ever brought the entire Undercity together. And He tried to rule. He came to conquer and burn; he went with the sword and the beam. His horde made it all the way up to the upper-middle city before they were stopped."

Mission looked scared, and stroked a specific tattoo, on her leg, compulsively, an act with meaning – the Rodian made a strange hand gesture of terror over her chest.

"Who?"

"...

HIM."

* * *

Serik and Ezekiel sat, (Serik laying on a cushion, rubbing her knee, and grimacing in pain – he seemed worn out from all the work) heads close together, deep in conversation - Mission was with the two Bothans, who were pampering and fussing over her fondly, it seemed, indulging her in conversation, and Mab and Carth (drifting in and out of sleep) sat with the sullustun, who was a mind of few words. Mab, doing a long lull in the discussion, got up and wandered over to the two intellectuals near the edge of the camp. "Hey guys, I have a question. Something that's been on my mind."

"Sure Mab, sit down" said Ezekiel and Serik nodded.

"What is it?"

"I was ah wondering, has anyone besides us journeyed to the Underworld and then made it all the way back to their starting point - well hopefully that's what will happen. I remember you" she looked at Serik ,"mentioning you sent a crew, but besides that – well I guess what I'm asking is: how common is it? Is it a wide known thing thing that it's possible? Are there records of successful trips?"

Serik and Ezekiel stared at each other, and then revolutionary deferred to **Palladarah,** tipping his head. "Well Mab, in fact only three of the mercenaries I employed even made it back up - out of 13. So it is incredibly difficult. Over the centuries and years it has gotten easier, as technology improves and anyone, in a large enough group, trained for the mission, and with top of the line equipment, has a decent chance of survival, but in the early days, it was thought to be impossible. And if you did it, you were automatically a legend - even daring to attempt lifted one up to that status. Our culture is filled with myths of heroes undertaking the journey for some reason (few made it) – to find a fallen lover, or one captured by some beast that came from below, to hunt a monster, to search for an ancient relic, or riches, tombs of kings, to carry the sick to medical rooms of pure white filled with vats said to cure any disease, to bring the dead back to life, or make deals with old, incomprehensible intelligences. Yugitherith, Boon, Xoyphristes, Cellidor Rockcon, King Augocrow - The Jedi Knight Goodwidth Badlast, the first outworlder ever to make the journey a few centuries after Taris was discovered by the Republic -"

"That – wow go on. I want to hear more."

"They were warriors, sorcerers, hackerlords – it was said the only way to succeed was the favor of the gods, to be touched by Divine Providence – now days it is obvious this refers to The Force, but back then, to curry such blessing, elaborate rituals would be prepared for months before the quest started – they would have to join mystery cults, learn mindbogglingly systems full of hidden meanings - and they always set out at at the top of one of The Endless Staircases - which back then, had most of their floors as gigantic temples. Sacrifices had to made - ancient weapons and armor sought - technologies begged for from corporate leaders and mad scientists hidden in crumbling towers. A lot of it has faded, and become the myth cycles and foundation our society is based on, but if even half of it is true – they knew much of the underworld, it's makeup, more then we solidly do today; they knew it's topography, and spoke of it in coded messages: how much is literal and how much is a metaphor is unknown but they spoke of certain behemoths guarding areas, baring passage, watching certain fields: Grath GROW, the sentient plant, Lobe, Hecraterbe a dragon with five tongues tipped with thorns, Gushgamensch, Guglamell, and Gutfagoosh, the three brothers, The Fallen of Eastwatch, the Singers of the Algae Sea, along with Cryslasis the sea demon. They also spoke of buried kings, waiting to wake, lost cities, industrious dwarfs beneath the earth – and you know what: it's possible, and that's why I'm ready to believe in the Promised Land" he said, nodding at Ezekiel, who was pleased and in agreement.

Mab put her finger to her red lips, and said ,"If there has been a flow back and forth of people, at least enough to generate these stories, why has no one ever blown the lid off of how many live down here? You think it would have to happen by now, simply due to probability."

Ezekiel answered: "The people who visit are concerned with other things – they are driven, on a mission, and focus on that alone. They do not see all the pain and suffering. They only get a small slice of life, we do not get the chance to tell our stories. They can't hear it all. To them, I am sure, if they even encounter us, we are nothing more then another fixture of the environment.

And even if someone was trying to look out for us – which i don't think is possible, no one comes down here just to explore and find all the trouble; to succeed you need drive and that mission simply isn't epic enough - they could never spread the world. The Tarisan government knows, and they don't care. They don't even need to cover it up to their citizens, and for the Republic at large they simply have to control the lines of communication and travel. If anyone wanted to spill the secrets to the galaxy, they would never have a chance to. The skies are so crowded; every flight out requires special clearance and planning. It's basically hopeless without complete and utter revolution."

'Hey, we're down here, and we've listened to your stories. I know I have. And we have Revan with us, basically the head of the entire military; you think they're going to try silence or stop him? It will work out."

"Not even the Jedi who visited the Underworld last did so for social work, to help. Hephaestus Prawn - that was thirty years - was here for The Great Hunt and nothing more. No one cares about us."

"I do. I will make sure a -"

"That's what Serik keeps saying - that if we have the serum and The Promised land as a base, we should be able to hold out long enough for him to ignite the spark to shake everything up."

Mab looked Serik's way and grabbed his clawed hand: "If that's so, you have my help."

"I am truly honored."

* * *

They moved across the plains – the ground was chaotic and mangled; as if newly plown, the dirt fluffy and soft, the skyscrapers resting at slightly tipped angles; like an unsettled graveyard, ----tombstones falling because the dead had clawed to the surface - like a rotting mouth, bloody and filled with loose broken teeth pointing in various directions, ready to fall out. They were great cracks and fissures in the earth, and the floor and immediate levels of the building glowed a light green – to protect against radiation - especially to guard Serik, who was completely suit-less in his lab - another level of WM's shielding up went up (one was already in placer, allowing the upworders to have their helmets off). The riders fiddled with their own personnel protection, but it was obvious they were not as effective, although able to do the job in the moment – Ezekiel adjusted the nozzle and a few gauges on the gas tanks attached to his legs - which caused him to walk even more strangely (he already had a protuberant limp) and more of the blue element flooded out, surrounding him (he also pressed a mask to his face and inhaled some smoke of a different color),Merrastache adjusted several of the golden disks, on each one silver owl engraved, that were attached tightly to her body, the Cathar's fur coat grew larger and larger, until he was in the middle of thick, moist suit of hair, completely covered, the Bothans constantly typed away on the computers of their wrists, what looked like a clump of real life graphical bits in front of them, shifting colors and shooting beams around them in a rainbow prism, and the Sullustan tightened, with a wrench, the bolts of his suit -which was huge and big bellied, and had a large round helmet with a glass plate front to it.

Out of the cracks in the land occasionally slime creatures squeezed, large amorphous blobs, with eyes floating inside – the travelers told to stay back, and then WM would vaporize them with a shot of plasma from his arm. From distant they sometimes observed large, ominous looking robots, bipedal, made out of black spiky steel, twisted and bone like. They were surrounded completely be fire; almost every part of them blazed and smoked - the four they saw were far away and walking slowly in different directions, creating a trail of destruction. "Fire demons" said Mayla "I thought they were a legend."

"What are they?"

"They're mechs - back when the Undercity, for the most part – vehicles especially - ran on gasoline, long ago, and there was a scarcity, causing many wars, these robots were designed to travel the wasteland, and search for fuel, suck it out of the ground from tanks, steal it from broken down cars. They're equipped with siphons on each arm apparently. But as they aged, got exposed to the elements and their wiring and systems became faulty, the oil inside got ignited, causing them to be entirely engulfed in flame. It happened to all eventually. Still they search out for more fuel, destroying all they touch, and feeding their unholy blaze."

After a few hours, they came to a gap to large to simply step over; the war droid, with all who it carried, jumped first, and then Ezekiel (with Tack), Malya, Raskgogive **, **and Merrastache ( hopping across on foot)went, the Bothans last. The male Bothan, Ryaday Forward, jumped for the edge (the female had gotten off the steed and let him go alone, so there wasn't too much weight on the mount; just like the Rodian and the Cathar had done) - is was not that far of a leap, but suddenly it seemed wider and the spider-horse creature missed, falling into the abyss, the Bothan grabbing onto the edge, barely making it.

Mab half saw, half didn't, only noticing slightly, the fact that on either side of the chasm, there was what appeared to be pinchers, like lobster claws, red and gigantic, covered in eyes, attached to each edge in a vice grip.

"What happened" shouted Carth uncomprehending.

"The gap widened."

"That's impossible." said Mab, softly.

"Why isn't anyone moving forward? Why isn't anyone helping him" screamed the female bothan at them; they all stood still, in shock. "He's slipping!"

This all happened in the span of seconds; then she ran back to get a running start, as to cross over and help her husband, if no one else would -"NO!"shouted Revan. She sprinted and leapt - this time it was obvious, the gap was wretched open immediately, not subtle at all, the ground shaking and breaking even more. She fell forward, and mostly hit her husbands legs, causing him to drop into the hole as well. The group heard both their screams as they fell. "What they hell just went on!" shouted Mab – the pincers, which had never fully registered on her consciousness, were gone - if they had ever been there at all.

"Nothing we can do about it now" said Revan, who had ran up to the edge, and had almost been there when they fell - he seemed off put, his eyes wide and strange. "It's too late... Let's get out of here."

They left the scene, Mission staring ahead, mouth open, expression wild and frightened; the **Sullsutun** had thick green liquid pouring out of it's nose, and had opened it's helmet slightly, poking at it's face flaps vigorously, slapping and bouncing them - it seemed to be doing the equivalent of sobbing earnestly and honestly, unabashedly like a child, not caring about anyone else at the moment. Ezekiel compulsively bite his lip , moving around his mouth and cheeks - Malya, the Cathar, and Rodian seemed unaffected, (possibly they weren't as good friends with the Bothans as the others or hadn't of known them well) or simply showed their grief differently: Malya stared of for a moment, then lit a cigarette and took long drags, while the Rodian simply shook it's ahead and kept with them -in silence.

* * *

Hey look over there!" shoutedMerrastache - about a mile away, one of the fire demons had stopped on a thin slab of metal, and lifted it's head roaring, a gout of fire blowing out. Mab heard the zooming of primitive, terrain based motorcycle, and saw a man, wearing a leather jacket, and holding a intangible shield in one hand, drive full speed towards the robot. He hit a ramp and flew through the air at the creature, banging it in the chest and knocking it over. They both rolled and the man somehow was still on his bike, which had righted itself - the droid and man dueled, the man circling it around on his vehicle, weaving and dodging hits, skidding low on the ground, snapping upright, using the bike itself as weapon, hopping up one one wheel and ramming into the creature, twisting the motorcycle suddenly and hitting the monster with it's back. The fire demon, at one of these moments, when the men was doing a wheelie, knocked the bike out from under him, and sent it skidding away. The man, on his feet now, dodged attacks (blocking one with the convex curve of his shield, a flaming arm blow against it which sent him falling to his knees) and stabbed with his sword, hitting deep into the droid, the blade crackling with electricity - the creature slapped the weapon away as well and the man pulled out two daggers, circling and stabbing them into the creature's back. This was all they saw - they passed the area were it was possible to view, and were blocked by a building.

* * *

They passed an open hole in the ground, clean and clear,, surrounded by cement, which rose slightly to meet it, so it looked to be on top of a mound. The group went by, and Malya said "Ah a Summoned Building." causing them to slow down.

"What's that?" said Merrastache

"It is said there are these locked structures, that just no one can get into – you need a password or an item to do so. And some structures rise out of the earth when you call them; they are not just sealed on the surface, they are buried as well – these would be **equivocated** at the start of battle to turn the tides - an army charging and all of sudden a gigantic structure shots behind the opposing battalion, a lost building adding to the forces, or a fugitive would run to them ,seeking shelter, and at the last moment his safety would explode out of the earth. Magicians were said to know the names of some of them, and each one would be useful in different circumstances - some say they even moved beneath the earth, and could switch positions when called, on gigantic trolley tracks."

Serik, who had been walking along side the steeds to stretch his legs, with Carth, meandered up on his staff, interested, and then on the lip of the hole wandered around, looking, steeping over several engraved areas. Mab saw a vision in her imagination of Serik standing tall and grand at the pit, waving his staff in intricate formations, pounding it against the earth, shouting spells - she knew he wasn't really doing it and that it was all fantasy; it was simply superimposed over reality, what could of happened at some point working with the details, being sublimated thought, of who was actually there now and what was going on in the moment - and then finally, a building burst out of the ground, destroying structures above it, stabbing through into the storm above, being struck with lighting as it went. She smiled at this visual and her creativity, shivering slightly.

"It is a magic world you live in."

Malya stared at Mab ,"Magic is kind of...like coal, in a way... coal and oil... how oil is created. With technology left alone and uninvestigated, unmaintained, layer upon layer, so much in one spot because of so many civilizations, all of crammed together and piled high, it builds up, it gets compacted together... squeezed tightly, and over the years, through ignorance and mis neglect and the strange growth of AIs, forms a diamond, a pearl in a mad oyster. "

**

* * *

**

It was near the end of their

walk for the day; they were going by the villager's schedules, as Mab, Carth (who had not adjusted to local time, because of the lack of day/night patterns and a sun, and still followed Republican Military Standard) Serik (who didn't care when they stopped, as he would not take a break ffrom working, and only indulged in micronaps), Revan (who could accommodate any pattern) and Mission ( who followed Tarisan time, which was slightly different from Republican and the villagers and was exhausted because of this, as she tried to stay awake to interact with everyone) could simply doze on WM as the droid continued on, while the undercity dwellers had to rest their steeds (very briefly, as they were superior lifeforms) and got some sleep themselves.

They stopped at what appeared to a church and entered inside, dismounting of the droid - WM sealing all the doors with some kind of fast growing putty. The chapel was like black rose, dark, slightly evil, yet still beautiful and elegant; it had tall, pure walls, an arched ceiling, and gorgeous stain glass windows, blood red and light purple. It was place of obscurity and shadows. As they went, they looked around, separating; the area had few pews left and they were all shattered and scattered about; an altar stood near the end of the building surrounded by light (garbage) stands, and was cloven down the middle. The very peak of the building was also made out of glass; staring down on them was a young Crudian female, a small box, resembling a cage, on a necklace; she held her fingers around it and it floated, one side of it opening. Something skittered across this picture, snarling, and then moved down the side of the wall - no one sensed it except for Revan, who spun and reached for light saber; the thing jumped and fell, dropping headfirst towards Mab, who looked at the rakghoul screaming. She threw her arms out, and the lightsaber Revan was reaching for was yanked off his belt and into her hands. She ignited it, slicing the springing rakghoul down the middle, and it fell to both sides of her.

No one moved for a second; Revan looked like he was going to throw up, and simply stared at her in utter dismay. He composed himself: "WM ready all missiles and engage orbital flight equipment. " Revan stomped towards Mab "Sedate yourself. Immediately!" and then pointed violently at the droid, who had a syringe pop out of a slot in it's arm, the needle ready. He continued walking in her direction as he said this and right after he finished, swerved, turning around, and then sat down on the floor inches away, instantly mediating. Mab, shocked, on the verge of tears, walked towards the droid, removing her gauntlets, and surrendered to the prick on her arm, and the quick engulfment of sleep.

* * *

When she woke, all the lights that they carried with them were off; she looked around in brief confusion, head twitching back and forth, but then in the darkness observed vague, sleeping forms, Carth in particular; he was near by, on his side, in a plush bag, snoring. Getting into a sitting position, stiffly (her body sore from the uncomfortable rest in hard, unyielding metal) stretching slightly, she began trying to figure out exactly were everyone was, searching for Revan. She began to get up, and his voice drifted over to her, low, "Over here. Quietly." She weaved through the prone bodies and sat in front of him; he was in the same position and location from when she was sedated, before. "Did everything go alright - I mean obviously, because we're here... but..."

"The whole extent of the damage possible was not realized.. The Exile remains ignorant. But... The Disciple has locked on to us and is...very close by. I have been following him, mentally, since this became apparent. Do not be mistaken, you have...caused a great deal of harm."

"Eh – I'm sorry, it just happened!"

"You do understand if it appears likely that this will occur again, I will forced to keep you under for the extent of the entire trip."

"But you need me."

Revan cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head -

"I mean you need all of us – at our full capacity."

He stared at her, paused, then said, "Go to sleep Mab. We'll leave in a couple hours... we should be there in a few days."

She got up, turning, but then looked back at him "Hey, wait, isn't this prime example of why should trained? I mean, so I control this-"

* * *

'Any more attention paid to your abilities will only accentuate the problem, in the beginning. It gets worse before it's gets better."

She rose again, to the general bustle of the travelers getting ready. WM packed into his back the shields, and the nutritional dispenser, and patted on the plastic rectangle, sealing it. The uplanders put on their armor once more, locking and twisting parts into place; Mab stood up, leaned back slightly and peed,sighing and blinking her eyes sleepily, while fittleling with three spiky knobs on the lower part of the torso. Ezkiel and Merrastache shared a wooden basin, splashing water on their faces, enjoying the luxury created by WM, Raskgogive brushed the hair of his coat, the thick, protuberant part, almost like a mighty bust, with a fine comb, golden backed, and the Sullustun bit into a egg one handed, the shell cracking and getting stuck in his teeth, gray yolk running down his hand. Mab rubbed her face, and ran a hand through her hair- it was clumpy and dirty (she had slept on a pile of grime) and the fingers were stuck in the tangled locks - she pulled a blade from a holster on the suit and grabbed random handfuls of it, cutting them off so they would stay out of her face and she wouldn't have to deal with their stinky grossness (it wasn't that big of a deal; if she wanted the length and the amount back she could just get artificial hair in any style and form – in fact she wasn't sure the stuff she had on her head now was in fact real- it had been a long time...)

She walked over to the pitcher on a slab, filled with juice from from concrete powder that Carth had mixed, and took sip directly from it - Carth was near by, shaving with a knife. "Hair, huh" he said, gesturing with the blade to her - he had observed her makeshift trimming. "Wish I could get the Full Bald Gene implanted in, and then just have my hair applied, when ever I wanted it, but you know the Military, don't want to have adults modified on that level, just in case someone takes the opportunity to slip a nanabot in, or some kind of timed illness or malfunction. Heard of a guy, always wanted to have darker shade of skin, goes in, (he was out in the backwaters and regulation wasn't as strict) gets reconditioning done, skin falls off naturally day by day, replaced by brown, you know, then a month later... goes insane, tries to crash the ship down into a space station. These separatists on the planet he was patrolling had implanted heavy genetic preposition for **Schizophrenia** into him."

"Yeah... you pretty much have to get it all done, before you enter the Military or even express interest, plan to... Either that or as a fetus..."

"You....you got anything? That no hair set would be pretty damn convenient-"

"Nah... nothing special. Just the basic prenatal stuff - The Enhancements. You?"

"Same thing, same thing. Although my mom always said that this set of freckles that form a smiley face on my back, was caused when my father, drunk, blew all the saving on that instead of something useful. That's how she made excuses..."

"hahahaha"

Mab took another swig, and watched, smiling, Mission asleep, draped over WM-33's arm, a gigantic pink bubble of saliva forming, about to press again the face mask. ("That was a close call, by the way, I figure" said Carth. "Yeah, hey mind, what exactly happened when I went un-") - Revan stood up, igniting his lifesaver. "Bandits of some type- ready yourselves!"

Mab and Carth looked at each other - Mab set down the beaker, and snapped the whip to the side - in mid ripple it hardened and grew spikes. Carth, wearing nothing but a white (originally) button down shirt, ruffed and dirty, and jeans, with holsters on his hips, ran over to his resting spot, grabbed his widened (to fit over the insecticoid gantlets) arm shield, and put it on his wrist; it shrunk and fit perfectly, and then drew both his guns. Malaya stood up, pulled a short, thick stick from her bag, and pushed a skull emblem in the middle of it; the ends shot out, expanding - it was now a staff - Ezekiel pumped his flechete gun, Menanche held one arm up, bend at the elbow; a weapon suddenly formed around it, swirling and snapping into place, and then opened her palm and it shot up into her hand – it was a spear of sorts, tipped at the end not with a point, but a widened golden fan, of sharp metal. The Cathar reached into the folds of his plush cape and pulled a gigantic battleaxe, and the Sullustun removed a thin wand from his side - a blowgun, while WM-33 lifted up Mission, waking, and set her to rest on a high balcony, baroque and of ominous stone, like a cruel, thin shelf of rock jutting over an ocean.

There was pause, a rumbling sound, and gigantic vehicle, a spinning drill at it's end, busted through one of the sealed doors, coming up from below, slightly (the entrance to the building was on a slope) and bouncing up, blasting aside chunks of the material. On this tank were masses of warriors of all types, clinging to it, some standing upright, others laying down and aiming - a single flag fluttered in the center, next to the hatch inside (the flag was on a shrunken decapitated head, long greasy hair, missing it's eyes, so the gaps were the beginning of dark tunnels, which crisscrossed the face, and connected to the cave that was it's mouth); running aside them were plenty of brigands as well – all of them where armed and equipped, although most not conventionally.

The battle was over quickly: Carth began firing into the crowd, blasting out of the air arrows and grenades that flew at him; Mab pulled out her pistol and shot as well, adjusting the lens by means of little metallic protrusions off the side, curved Cs, loosely set hinges, coming out of the wood, so she pointed straight ahead and instead hit people who weren't expecting it - Revan and the underdwellers jumped into the fray, Malaya swinging the staff over her head, Ezekiel walking forward inexorably , limping, firing wide shots. WM launched out of it's shoulder sockets two missiles; they flew forward briefly and he caught them, the propulsion blasts still firing out as he ran forward with them in each hand. He met up with the drill tank, ran on top of it and slammed the two missiles into it, leaving his hands on the jagged holes to cover them up. They exploded, the tank jumping, hopping and it shook, parts of it flying off, everyone riding it flung into the air, some dying because of the intense vibrations. WM began shooting and kicking those around - Revan was now on top of the tank, fighting - surprisingly cautiously, defensibly - many at once, but only occasionally taking one down.

The marauders threw grenades at WM-33 and one with a massive piece of weaponry strapped to his body began leaking a thick gray fog out of a gigantic cannon on it's shoulders The fog hummed and thrummed loudly, causing Mab's teeth to vibrate; it began to settle around WM-33 legs, who was using lasers to shot down the explosives thrown it's way. The droid jumped in the air, and landed on two groups of people. One was a cluster with many separate individuals with shields and they pressed together in time, forming a solid roof - the other was crushed, and WM teetered, lopsided, small jets shooting out to help keep it balance, as it's arms waved. The droid tottered more, began falling, used it's stumbling momentum to swerve it's body, lead by it's leg and kicked someone out of the way, and then stepped on another group with shields, using them as support as well.

Malaya was in the middle of battle now, the second one there, efficiently hitting enemies in the face and stomach with her staff, spinning and ducking - Tack shot an strange alien Mab had not seen before in the neck with his dart; his head expanded, and then deflated, completely boneless. WM-33 paused for a second, shooting more lasers, and then activated it's foot jets, blasting into the air, completely annihilating those he had been resting on. It flew through the ceiling, destroying it, and then perched on top the building, crammed in, in a way so it was basically the new roof – chunks of rock fell, it caught them and then threw them at specific points.

The Cathar reached the main choke point at the time WM was taking off, near the entrance, and began swinging his ax mightily, reaching into his massive pockets and throwing primitive grenades by the handful, tied together with strings. Merrastache danced in the crowd, slicing and spinning - Ezekiel was there to; he blocked a sword blow with his gun, then took out a wide swathe of attackers, knocking them of their feet

At this point the battle filled the entire bundling; they were all around everyone, they were everywhere; at least thirty of them left. Mab shoved her gun under a **H'nemthe's **throat; she stared at Mab in fear, eyes wide; Mab pulled the trigger and a laser shot from either side of the gun, because of the lens, hitting those running at her. The bandit blinked in some surprise, and then Mab, smirking, brought her arm back and hit it in the face with her baton , cracking it's neck. The momentum made Mab spin slightly, on her heels-

T3-M4 dueled, shooting electricity and puffs of cold air, a small scuttling creature, scurrying around it on various canes attached to it's body, almost like extra legs. The creature was quick and bothersome, and would attach the canes (the ends tipped in suckers) to T3-M4 and lift it - spinning it, picking it up and placing it somewhere else, or throwing it. It took the utility droid, Carth, and Ezekiel to kill the dexterous xenomorph.

Mab kicked and swung in the group of four surrounding her, all wielding thin, long scissors in one hand, and rods with simple clamps attached to the end in the other, activated by clutching and pinching the handle, which they aimed at her throat, attempting to tear it out. Three were human and one was a sallow, yellow skinned creature, taller then her, with a long face, twisted like melted plastic, only made more elongated by a coil of golden hair (or the equivalent to it; it was slick and unwielding) that continued upwards - a nightmarish image, a pulled taffy visage.

She heard a loud sound, and punching aside, looked in the gap; Merrastache stood for a second, still, a neat hole in her forehead, and then collapsed, revealing a human wearing an eye patch behind her, holding a antique revolver. Mab grabbed two of the people by her, next to each other, by the neck, lifted them up in the air, and then slammed them against the ground, and ran towards Merrastache , slicing the mans chest and arms with a laser as she did so. She made it to the Rodian and cradled her - they had machines with the ability to bring the dead back to life, and although the destruction of gray matter proved a problem, they could scan the area around the fallen underworlder - however, the hole continued to smolder, and the flesh around it was slowly eaten away, smoking on the growing edges until the entire head was ash. Revan (who had been on the top of the wreckage of the tank previously; Mab had briefly glimpsed him pull of his cloak with one hand over his shoulder, put a hand in the center and spin it, blocking sword stabs, while thrusting in an other direction with his saber, then wrap it around an enemies arms, twist them and decapitate him) sliced through the crowd, and was there; when this reached the end point, they looked each together, nodded, as if to say let's get back to work (Mab projecting and feeling he was encouraging payback) and Revan held out a hand. She jumped up, kicked off of it, as lifted it up and threw her; she landed into a cluster of bandits, and began spinning, shooting and hitting.

Doing this fight she saw two things: Carth dodging and blocking two laser beams, the only ones still flashing across the church besides his, (one of the warriors began to aim at the Sullustun; Carth shot a beam near the under dweller so when the laser headed his way, it hit Carths and was reflected, killing a bandit; at this moment Mab truly marveled at the gunslingers skill.) ran to the edge of the building and climbed rapidly up a complex scaffolding structure - a missile hit the near edge of it, and it rattled and shook. Up there he worked even more efficiently, picking off the most dangerous in the crowd - a man in a mechanized exoskeleton, a man with a flamethrower, a female laien, with four hands, and sharp swords.

Four were near Serik's rectangular lab, blasting away with hand cannons - two were taken out by WM-33, thick beams of light from the sky, and one by Mab, multitasking - which was why she was looking over there. The final one made an efficient last stand, holding off all attempts to kill him- Serik left his lab, looking annoyed, and very tired, face drawn, and went up behind the warrior and pulled, taut against his throat, a strip of steel wire removed from his lap coat. (two looped handles were at the end). The Twe-lik struggled and gasped, blood running out of the growing cut; he rammed against Serik, knocking the Trandoshan back, but the solid doctor remained steady, and the Twe-lik fell to his knees. Still he struggled, wrenching his head back and forth, and throwing elbows; Serik placed a foot against the small of his back and pushed, the blood gushing now - the Twelik reached for a dagger on his side, not seeming to be giving up - Serik pulled harder for a second, and then rotated the handles slightly - the wire blossomed, blades growing, unfolding, out of one side; it slide through the man's neck and his head fell to the ground. Serik walked back into his lab, as it had been nothing more then bother that was now corrected.

Mab heard cracking; she threw aside the last of the enemies around her, and stared; the scaffolding had been hit again and was crumbling down, part of it shattered. A man far away from her, near the Sullustun and Malaya, pulled a small, delicate gun out of a holster; it was tiny and black with a flat top and wide muzzle- out of it shot many long, thin glowing green needles; they hit Carth's upraised hand, knocking the gun of it and pining it to the wall, impaling through the flesh. In the middle of the hand was now a loose cylinder of the needles. The scaffolding, taking one more hit, gave away, and left Carth dangling there, by his one hand; he screamed in an immerse amount of pain, hanging senselessly, the flesh not ripping and bleeding at all. A laser lanced his side and he bellowed. Mab ran in front of him, underneath as he hung, and protected him from any more aiming at him.

Since the beginning of the battle, when they lost their tank and realized how powerful WM was, the group had primarily been retreating, first in one formation, then randomly, scattered, searching for secret ways out, or trying to blast their way to the exterior, all the while attempting, as a second goal, to kill as many as them could. (Ezekiel slammed his shield, glowing yellow air, against someone's throat, pinning them against the wall, then rested the shotgun on it, pulled the trigger and blew their head away- the Cathar held it's axe in front of it, paused, then rushed into a group - three swords blows taking him down – the final two in one wide section where quickly killed by Malaya.) Now retreat was their only objection, and they turned their backs entirely, fleeing and scampering away. One dropped to his knees in front of Mab; she paused for a second, then shot him in the head: she did not know if what she did was right (_It's so fucked up, I let them live, then I'm putting others at risk; they're probably the types that attack normal, moral settlements, but hey they're just trying whatever is necessary to survive, and isn't any action, any collaboration, still a step up from entropy? They're forming out of the void, down here, isn't that a good thing, no matter what they do-_) a few more attacked her, attempting to grab her and drag her away; she dispatched them easily, and then walked towards the makeshift exit, where the rest fled to, five of them running.

The line sprinted, dodging mines set down by WM and lances from above, and then Revan flipped and landed in front of them, holding his light saber. He motioned towards WM and Ezekiel and the Sullustun -who were advancing - and stared intensely, looking at each bandit, blocking the way. Observing them closely, he prowled back and for forth, hunched slightly and when one would make a slight movement, he would twitch as well – he looked at each, daring them to do something, One jerked his gun upward at the Revan and he was over there before Mab could blink, slicing the man's arm off, and throwing him side. Now even closer to the bandits, he moved among them intimidatingly, starting directly at their faces, pointing his blade at their throats, eyes wide and searching, blazing.

Finally, he slipped his lightsaber back into the holster and held his hand out to WM; (who had dropped back down) four small orbs shot from the droid; Revan caught them **, each on flying** into a space between his fingers. He held his palms up like this, for a moment, then began rolling them around as he walked among the group. He would then violently, against the neck of each bandit, shove an orb and point towards the exit, after which they would scramble away. The third bandit stared toward the orb fearfully, whimpering and cringing away, squeaking slightly; Revan grabbed him, shoved it against his throat, drawing blood, then by the back of his clothes chucked him out of the building; the human skidded down the slope.

Mab and Mission (who had climbed down the interior side of the building) went to get inform Serik (who was standing outside his tent) of the specific injuries of everyone in group; specifically those of Carth, who was sobbing lightly above, crucified, and the Cathar.

* * *

Carth was leaning up against a pew, (Revan had climbed up the wall and cut away the part that he was attached to) a strip coming off the belt around his waist clenched between his teeth, the very end of it; Serik, after starring at the gunslingers hand with one gigantic eye, magnified by a glass in front of it, (and after checking over the Cathar, who had been injected with healing accelerators and growth serums, and was now resting, breathing steadily, work still being done on him, as tiny droids climbed over his body, squeezing into his gaping wounds – pressing and slipping their way in slimily - and delicately implanting capillary tubes and replacement veins; Bridges) lifted a crude rock, and looked at Carth's sweating, feverish face. "Are you ready?"

"Yes... just do it" he said, unstably. Serik lifted his arm back and then slammed the rock like a hammer against the needles in Carth's hand, trying to drive them out; Carth screamed, then bit down on the leather in his mouth, and wretched his head spasmodicly to the side, making the belt taut and tight, jerking his hips up a little by the force of the pull, lifting them up. Serik hit again and again, furiously, Carth's hand and the obsidian attached to it resting in a pool of blood, specks of it on the Lizards eye wear. The needles had only moved a little bit – they were designed to stay in, with little hooks resting in the meat that released hormones to keep the flesh tight and together- they were spindles of radioactive mineral, and meant to remain, despite all hitting and pulling, until the victim died of poisoning.

The doctor rested, panting – "T3 come here please." The droid rolled up and Palladarah nodded at it. "I won't by able to get these out by myself... The droid will help. Lock his hand in a vise grip, and then hit the needles with one enormous amount of pressure."

The robot attached it's manipulators, simple pinchers, to Carth hand, then adjusted the tilt of it's body slightly – a small tube of metal, centered in them middle of it's frame, below it's head was now lined up with the spikes.

"That will completely mangle the hand, Serik" said Revan.

"It's the only option. We need to get this hazard away from his body, but I don't want to cut the limbs off, as we don't have any vats with us. I'm going to try and save as much flesh as possible. Most of it will be destroyed yes, but I don't see any other way, and I may be able to make a large amount of it usable again, for the time being."

He looked at Carth, reached towards the hand and repositioned it slightly, loosening one hold, and moving another small extension of the droid further toward the center of the palm. "Okay T3-M4. Ready when you are."

The droid paused for a second, then the solid beam, mechanic supports on the sides, shot out with a puff of air, hitting squarely in the center of the needles, driving them out. Carth groaned a scream, muffed and restrained, and his eyes pointed upwards as his red face contorted. The needles were hanging out, and Seirk, with a hand gloved in heavy material, grabbed them, wiggling them slightly, and then ripped them free; he tossed them to the side and they scattered, like dropped sticks, like thrown rice. Carth's hand was torn and obliterated; it had a huge maw in the center, and the fingers were twisted, pointing at odd angles; the limb was not one whole, and parts of it hung, drooping, separate from the others. Serik moved quickly, holding a small scanner up to it, creating holograms around the hand – in indicted spaces he placed small needles, and connected them together strategically, in specific manners, with thin silver threads. These divided the hand into sections, and he began spraying a thick fluid, division by division – the fluid and thread grew together and began tightening, forming a glove, moving the flesh and pulling it back together. The first three fingers and the palm was covered in the thick white glove, and Serik ripped open pieces of it, little door like flaps, and attached plastic tubes, which lead to small vials of green bubbling liquid. He wrapped these tubes around Carth's arm, and attached the vials with Velcro to his wrist, in different areas, efficiently.

"I don't think you can save the last two fingers" said Revan; they still were at strange angles, one at 90 degrees, the other flipped over backwards, hanging by a strand of muscle and snapped bone.

"You're right" said Seirk and then grabbed a smaller instrument; a cutter. He put the small hole at the end around the first finger – "Wait no!" said Carth - Serik disregarded him and snipped the finger off and then moved onto the other and did the same as Carth screamed once again - Serik of course had not brought anesthetics, except the kind that stopped all feeling together, forever, in deadly hypodermics and rags held silently up to faces, and although stim packs would distract Carth from the pain, (they would cause him to ignore it, simply because he would be filled with enormous energy and activity, every muscle in his body tight and taut, tendons in his neck rope like and thick, standing out; the common conception of a frequent stim user was a naked barbarian, blood stained beard, wild eyes, painted chest, erect penis matching the gory, murderous phallic symbol carried in both hands) they would not use them as he had to hold quite still for this operation; not shake and twitch and (want to) run and dance with jittery franticness.

Serik sealed up the glove, past the spot where the last two digits should have been, and then injected a few vials full from syringes into various areas, through the fabric. Revan sat behind Carth, hands on his shoulders, trying to comfort him as best as he could.

As Serik conducted primitive, brutal field surgery on Carth, Tack, Malaya, and Ezekiel began piling pieces of rock - searching for the longest kind, the ones that looked like mystical crystals in caves, the ones that fell from the ceiling - in crisscross formation, to create an altar to rest the body on. The steeds (who during the battle were in a separate room, a closed vestibule off to the side – it was located past a hole in the wall, boarded up with knobby white wood - piled high with garbage which the underdwellers had thrown in from the outside with shovels. No one had bothered them doing the fight, although two had been hurt _by _them - one bandit had strayed by the boards, and a leg kicked through, knocking him in the head, leaving a large bruise – he was one of the individuals who surrendered and escaped - and another stood by a small opening, thinking himself safe; a huge head stuck out silently, and pushed it's lips over the man's skull, sliding them over, like a boy with an orange in his mouth, - the ball slickly and slowly bought into his cheeks, bulging them out, a tiny bright strip replacing teeth - and then when it pulled away, making a slightly sucking, popping sound, the man's skin came with it.) dragging blankets piled with stone towards the platform. When they finished, the bier completed, made up off on their side, pointed end obelisks, black and cold, over each other, slightly haphazardly, so peaks and pyramids stuck out from all angles, they lifted Merrastache body and laid it on top of it. By this time the overworlders walked towards this ceremony as well, Carth resting on a twisted chair he dragged over; the Cathar came as well, leaning on Malaya's shoulder, arm over it.

Serik walked up to the foot of the platform, and lifted his staff. "I can create a fire if you wish it."

"Yes, that be nice." said Malya solemnly.

"Wait," said the sullsutun – "I would like to say a few words..." he paused, and corrected himself, timidly "I think we should say a few words."

"Okay," said Ezekiel, his fist balled and banging against his thigh - here was man of sublimated emotions, expressed through body motions; a thin stream of blood ran from his chewed to a pulp lips – they oozed through his frame, although he tried to hide them.

Tack walked toward the front of the platform, by Serik, running his hand down the fat stomach of his suit – he found a handle, grabbed it, pushed it in slightly and twisted – it was like the secure core to some machine, the way he removed it; he continued to rotate it, and pulled a open faced tube out, gas leaking out slightly. Mab realized he had these hatches all over his body and they acted as drawers, most likely for his valuables – out of this one he removed a small worn book, the only thing within, lonely and undramatic by itself, thin with a black cover. He flipped it open clumsily with his large metallic hands and paused for a second, reading. As he went through the series of actions, Ezekiel and Mab spoke quickly. "Perfect spot... we're in a church."

"Yes, it's strange how it matches up like that."

"And this place is Tack's denomination as well – as it is for most of the Under city. It is the largest religion..."

As Tack pulled out the book, Ezekiel caught it with his eye. "That's probably what he's going to read - something with their texts."

"Merrastache , you have done the impossible – you have escaped The Cage. Let us hope it was the right way - not through the side, not through the bars, but through the padlocks of the gate, as many spirits before you had, rushing through the rusting metal, breaking the pins and shavings inside. Throwing themselves against it, melting it as they traveled through to the realms past. Let us hope you contributed to it's degeneration, so that your death was not in vain. Let us hope you assisted in it's crumbling, so one day, it will shatter and fall, and the doors will open, the fence will be broken, and we, we will be able to enjoy living what required you dying to obtain.

By She Beyond Walls, let your death not be in vain."

Serik finished "Crisscoas Chriscanis" as a amen, the Sullsutun looking at him in surprise, and then lowered his staff, which was held over the body horizontally, until it touched, immediately igniting the body into flames.

They then watched the body burn, the fire reaching up high, as they one by one walked by, some leaning over, until their face was warmed by the heat, speaking a few words. The overdwellers simply moved past and nodded – Malaya as well, while the Sullsutun, the Cathar, and Ezekiel stayed a little longer, talking to the charring flesh, the ashy outline. Mab, who was behind Ezekiel, heard him whisper something about "all those long arguments ", and watched his melted face of fleshy folds contort in grieft and because of this, she herself, held up by his pause, stayed a little longer (further back) then she would have, staring sadly.

When the procession ended, Revan said, gesturing to the scattered bodies "We better leave. The scavengers will be here soon enough."

"The scavenger was already here. The scavenger has already struck. He follows us our entire life, no matter how we try to run, he follows every step, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He circles around us constantly, knowing we are weak, because we are constantly hunted. This city is a predator, one we can never escape, thus the scavenger, death, will follows us always, waiting, because we are always in danger. We are marked. There is no safe haven."

With that Malaya turned and walked out of the church.

* * *

It only took them two more hours to reach the start of the ravine - their walk through the blasted lands was relatively uneventful - occasionally more blobs popped out of the earth and and before anyone could react, they would disappear n a flash of light, a plum of smoke curling from were they once were, nothing else there, WM lowering it's gun. Eventually, unharmed, they reached the start of the gap - a rough slope descended down into it, no other entryways, all the other sides sheer cliffs. They continued down steadily, for about twenty minutes, until Malaya stopped, slightly exasperated. "We can't continue this. We'll (speaking of the under dwellers) need to get out climbing equipment. "

Revan held up two fingers "Wait. WM-33, clear a path."

The war droid opened a slot on it's back, and a gigantic cannon slid out, resting over it's head. It began to shake and draw in air, glowing blue, then shot a beam down at an angle, caving a smoother slope, obliterating the rock. They began to walk forward, T3-M4 in front spraying cold air, to cool the melted glass and stone that ran like lava, making sure it was safe for them to walk.

"It should be about a days walk. Afterward we'll reach the start of the desert. "

"Dessert... Is this dessert too caused by the nuclear missile?"

"No... no I believe it was always like that before. You see there's coils underneath, coils that glow and bake with a heat, and they slowly melted the entire city over them, when they were first activated, breaking it down into small sand like grains."

"Coils" said Revan. "Yes that makes sense. There has to be something thing to absorb all the heat on this planets, from all the buildings, otherwise everyone would be baked alive."

"There's about four and five them scattered about, each one with a desert over it."

"On Corusant they have relatively the same thing – more efficient of course. Each district has a tower, a tower of of precious stone, that sucks in most of the heat created. (The rest lower down is used to boil water, and power primitive generators, just in case we need to revert to those methods if there is a attack or sabotage of some kind- the entire lower city is a giant lake, the deepest levels submerged underneath it; surrounded by bio engineered coral reefs and fantastical ocean life while on the surface shielded boats and canoes row. Here there are nutrient rich bacteria that thrive, which supply a 16th of the planet, and contained sections for water dwelling sentients, visiting from other planets. ) Back to the the towers – they project off the planet, into space, and then shoot the beams of heat into various suns in the solar system, ribbons of temperature traveling across the abyss."

"It's said that these beams can be targeted at specific things to defend the planet - and that the flow of temperature can be reversed and heat can actually be sucked into the planet, in times of great need."

"The first one is a fact - in the early days, before the Republic, this is what gave Corusant such an edge over the competition, this inventive form of planetary defense. The second - it's likely travelers from far away, before recorded history, simply visited Corusant, and in awe assumed this to be so, assumed it to be greater then it actually was. Saw the beam of heat into a sun and thought it went both ways. Dibo Voy-toy-Bonskirsses' travels journals are rife with this. Of course, not even I know the full capacities of Corusant... it is a mystery what it is completely capable of."

When they reached the bottom they continued on – the sides of the canyon were made that way by the bombings, although a few buildings projected themselves, distinct, still in a solid formation, the floor was open and wide, a few standing structures and cities here and there, but mostly rubble.

As they walked, Mab observed several large holes in the sides of the gap, clear cut and massive through the almost jade like material, the slick smooth surface that was green and slightly translucent. At first she thought they were remmenents of a sewer system, but she grew to doubt this "Hey, Malya do you know what those holes are?"

"Actually I don't. I don't know this area well - my knowledge simply consist of this: this is one many cracks in our earth, special in no way, except for the fact that it's a prime route to the Dessert."

"I know" sad Bogrraftern with a thick accent – he, like the other aliens spoke a mix of Basic and HVR (as humans were the most populous species down here). "Steet worms"

"Stitch worms?"

"Yees. When me mother live in Upper City, colleague at university tell her many stories. Tell her one story of things call steetch worms. They burrow through earth and look for ravines. They wait until people in ravines and then many of them at once burst out, fly over gap, and go into other side. Then they contract body, steetching the ravine together like a wound, crushing all within."

'It's part of digestive system then, to get them down to size."

"Or maybe to kill many at once."

"I do not know. But I am sure, is steetch worms here. They wait till people forget old legends and build in gaps, I see many space and supply for small villages here, no one come though. They are wise now."

"Is that too part of them – their process" said Mab, pointing at one of the holes - out of it thick green slime oozed, a river of it."

"Possibly" said Carth.

"Or maybe it's just two species that have a environmental relationship – the slime evolved to follow the pathways of the stitch worms because they always lead to people." The pool of slime contracted slightly and jiggled -it was shot through with many small strands.

Above them, far up, flew many birds, humanoid shaped, strange and distorted - although they were disturbing, they do not come close to what they saw three hours on through, something so horrific it was almost incomprehensible The glass, which had now turned to a clear crystal color, had behind it, about half a mile away, a gigantic head, vaguely humanoid, with sunken cheeks, and a caved in forehead, brown leathery skin, and dark pits for eyes; coming where it's neck should have been were four bright pink, fleshly tentacles, and off the bottom of it's head, two in front, two in back, were things that resembled grass hopper legs. They all cried out, Mission shrieking, and Revan walked closer, pressing his face against the surface. The front legs were moving slowly, moving like spider legs move, when one rears up it's limbs, boxing the air- it was burrowing, burrowing to the edge glacially, digging it's way.

They saw three or four more of these things, at further distances, the last one a unknown shape, a dark silhouette barely spied.

* * *

Two eyes on stalks peered, drooping over the edge of the gap. Then a glop of blubber threw itself over; it's front part oozed over the edge, carrying the rest with it. It fell at them, directly above. WM-33 grabbed two long machine guns off the side of it's legs with it's hands, and hoisted them into the air, unleashing a hail of bullets. They hit the blob, ripping it into thousands of pieces – a shield over WM-33 was activated, a curve of fiery light, like the exterior of a comet just beginning to fall. The blobs hit it sizzling and dissolving - outside of it's range, which ended a little after WM did, the rain continued. Ezekiel and the Sullsutun where the two at risk - Ezekiel held his shield up, blocking the clumps- the Sullsutun was hit by many of them eating away at his suit, and then a large one landed on him, enveloping him completely in clear fluid. Revan ran at him, and shoved strong hands inside the glob, pulling the sullsutun out, who was smoking, the exterior of his suit eaten away. Revan shook him off and set him aside, and then began flinging globs off his own hands- the dark sleeves and the skin was burnt and beginning to shrivel, turning a crispy black. Serik, at the command of WM, jumped from the droid, landing and twisting his ankle. He grabbed onto Carth and ran towards the Jedi - Revan held out his arms "No. No! I'm fine!" grabbing a sprayer off his belt and hosing his arms down.

* * *

They reached the end of the ravine – it was marked by two skyscrapers with snarling faces on them, made out of blackened, blown out windows. The desert rested before them – vast and epic, the most open area they had seen Taris. Their journey had truly begun.

* * *

WM-33 ran across the desert, arms windmilling as it bounded in long leaps. Two riders were on each side; they whipped their steeds to keep pace and galloped at full speed, bodies crouched and low, aerodynamic, mounts foaming and snorting. All around them was free, and they could sprint for as long as the eye could see – they were in gigantic emptiness, sand spreading in all directions; a golden blankness. Above them a whole block of buildings floated, the sky, the rows and columns of the skyscrapers that made up the grid distinct when looked at from below, separate from each other. With most of them, the bottoms were missing and pieces and scraps of metal hung; the first floors were torn platforms over a enormous abyss.

They were the only moving things in all the land, and the world stretched before them like never before – Mission gaped in awe when they first crossed the beginning hills, now seeming to suffer from a headache brought on from anxiety concerning the openness or lack of stimulation; Mab was amazed as well, when she realized the scope of what they had to cross – although in actuality it would probably go faster, as they could straight out run, not have to weave and climb through twisted labyrinths.

WM jumped over a dune and then crashed through another one, legs and knees bursting through – most of the time however the area was flat and smooth, which was the only reason why the underdwellers were still side by side with them.

Occasionally on their journey they saw skyscrapers, dream like, over them at odd angles - not in the proper formation but horizontally above, slowly falling or drifting down - twisting and bending like something malleable and melting - like objects out of a surrealist painting. A pure obsidian one floated above, a soap bubble, sinking gently and gradually, from the middle dropping, so both sides of it pointed downwards, hanging limply. Mission explained, or gave her best hypothesis: "Some of the buildings in the grid are missing; they slipped out and crashed into the desert - like they weren't packed tightly enough, they crumbled or were destroyed by some unrelated reason. The landcorps don't want to freak people out with a big open space, so they just create these hallucigraphic buildings - I've seen them before - in fact I almost died once, because of one. It's cheap though and no one cares about climbers."

" The generators are malfunctioning then."

"Yeah so there's a gap anyways now, and the illusion just kind of slipped down here, floating out of where it was suppose to be. The projectors are probably on the very bottom, anyways, maybe the heat messes them up."

A spire, top first, headed directly at them, like it was in the under water, barely under the dominion of gravity. They ran under it before it touched down – near by they could see the ripples in it's surface, and the waverey mirage like appearance of it's exterior.

They continued on - after a solid day of running, they reached the point where it was too hot for the underdwellers to go on unprotected – WM shot four beams of energy at them, hitting them and enveloping them in a splash, a outline, a cloud of blue. Eventually, the mounts were lifted off the ground completely, and then kicked next to WM – mythical creatures pulling some chariot, riders in the sky. The underdwllers either slept or ate at this point; Ezekiel drinking from a flask and staring long- gazed ahead, Raskgogive sleeping gently, legs folded underneath him, resting upright.

When Mab had just drifted off to sleep, dimming the lights of her goggles, Serik popped out to inform them the serum had been completed, and he was feeding it into the system in order to devise a cure, but "all predictions seem to point to the fact that creating such a thing would more difficult then I thought - years of work. In short, still be glad we made this trip, it was the right choice."

"The serum is completed?"

"Yes."

"WM-33 plot a tentative course to the surface."

Seeing Serik begin to voice an objection, Revan continued, clarifying, "Now that we have the serum, it's good to devise a back up plan - just in case. Now we can leave, if necessary. Before I wouldn't even consider it regardless of what came, and before I didn't know where we would be when the serum was finished, so I couldn't plan anything, but now I can look at the environment we are in, and design several failsafes."

Serik still looking unconvinced, Revan said, as compromisingly as possible ,"It's what I do."

"What, you would blast through the buildings?" said Mab.

"In several scenarios.... Serik" said Revan, as the doctor turned to reenter his lab "Remember, focus on perfecting the serum. You said it would only be in rough form, at this moment. Ignore work on anything else for now - just in case the Promised Land doe not offer what is expected."

The next day, anticipation nearly overwhelming them, Carth and Mab chatted amiably, able to strike up a conversation at any moment, about anything. Mab felt Revan was listening, and would glance her way occasionally - although it was this literal or a metaphor for something on a higher level was unknown to her – when she snuck her own peeks he was always stony face, statuesque. Still, she felt, sometimes he cracked a smile at something she or Carth said - there was never any sign of this, however. There was on the other hand observable behavior on her part, and after quickly looking over at Revan, she turned back to Carth, who had a knowing smile on his face – if she was catching Revan, he had her. She ignored her, rolling her eyes, or narrowing them, (as it happened twice) and then continued on with whatever they were talking about.

Approximately five hours away from The Promised Land (as the maps of Malaya and T3 said [Malaya had fed them into the droid along with scraps of clarifications and vague sketches; allowed the robot to scan the crumbling yellow papers, cracked scrolls, and wrinkled clothes, with faded inks; T3 had almost immediately given them a consolidated map but it also interrupted that image or interfered with it frequently to project smaller figures, superfluous drawings stolen from the maps themselves, decoration additions, the slugs and cephalopods on the edges, the blowing giant faces and fearsome titan's. It took them and continued to use them, fascinated by them, either many of them at once, swirling around it's head, like a mobile, like it was a child that had found a lot of toys, or causing them to hover, half transparently, along walls, on the ground, snakes drifting along blockily, unanimated , simply a copy, or creatures in corners, on ceilings, hiding, isolated in some random spot.}) WM skidded to a halt, creating a furrow behind it, sand piling up over it's feet.

"Perceptual observation: Master it's becoming to hot to continue - this area specifically posses much to high a temperature. I could converse energy, taking it from the fleshtubes and letting them fry, either to use it to better shield myself or activate my propulsion system, but the decision, of course, ultimately rests with you. I only can incentives such as the invigorating and frankly, stimulating smell of burning -"

Revan stared in the sand and then looked up "The center of the coils rests near by, underneath. That explains why it has been getting hotter..."

"What are we going to do?" asked Mab.

Revan continued scanning with his narrowed, focused eyes, and looked off into the horizon, past a curling tower. He climbed Wm shoulder and rested behind it's head, his favorite spot, perking up like some small animal who had heard a nose, and decided to stare stillly at it.

"There's a dam about twenty dons away - if WM pierces it, it may cool down the sand long enough for us to run across the surface of the water. We will be able cross before it evaporates completely, leaving us with no protection.

"WM one missile should do it. Hit it in the weakest point."

WM shot a missile from it's shoulder and then they watched it trail off into the distance, leaving a line of smoke. A few moments later there was rumbling sound, and the ground shook slightly.

"- We need to divert the course the river! WM, land torpedoes! "

The war droid's arm rotated and twisted, and around it's wrist slid two metallic cuffs, each with five holes in them, filled with tubular bullets, tear drop shape, covered in spikes, tipped with strange, sharp propellers. One shot into each hand and it threw them into the ground - they blasted forward, underneath the sand, raising ridges. Further on they exploded sending up great bunches of sand, creating walls - they could see the water now, rushing forward, dirty and grimy, composed primarily of garbage - it hit the first three walls of compacted ground, and splashed off, moving slightly in a different angle. WM threw three more torpedoes -

"We need something more! Carth use the shield gun we bought!"

Carth rustling in the pockets of his coat, pulled it out, and aimed the wide muzzle with one hand as he rearranged holograms with the other. Finally a metallic sphere shot out, forward in an ark trajectory and landed, creating a massive yellow shield, a towering wall. This was the barrier closest to them, and the murky deluge hit it, a wave crashing over and landing on them, the sludge drenching WM's shield. But the stream had diverted enough; it now unwound before them and ahead of them, creating a pathway, a bridge across burning wastes.

WM stepped forward, meeting the first trickle of slimy brown water, and then commenced running, his feet making squelching sounds as they went in and out of the bubbling muck. The first area looked like a dark muddy beach after the tides have pulled away, deep into the sea, consisting of a not quite solid surface layer of refuse. The steeds to each side bobbled up and down, occasionally, because of WM's imperfect sprint, drooping and brushing against the river – they would kick off of it leaping back into flight or run along briefly, feet unfolding into thin circular flaps of skin, skipping across the surface , until lifted up,

The droid picked up speed, the surroundings now a blur- time was of the essence as the water began to steam, parts of it catching on fire; as well as the fact that the river had deepened, obtained murky depths. WM occasionally shot jets out of his back, going forward even faster, and near the end of the hot zone exploded with one massive burst – it tumbled, rolling, and when it came to a stop, the riders were scattered behind them, two of the mounts rearing up, kicking the air in pain, the temperature overwhelming. WM shot the beams of energy at them once again and the continued on, eventually reaching a point where the shielding could be deactivated, and the steeds could trot along, legs wetly slapping the mud - puddles of water rapidly dwindling, leaving behind pieces of junk stranded, coated in slime, curling in on themselves.

A wall of shimmering cityscape loomed ahead of them- they had been gradually going downward, and now they were level with the incoming district's sewer system – a cliff of tunnels and drains towered above. This was perfect however- they were heading directly at a open pipe; the entrance to the Promised Land's cavern. Far above, past the intricate twisted mass, at the edge of the chunk of land, a scorpion like being, wearing a bright red turban stared on top of a tower – it held binoculars up to it's eyes and watched them calmly.

"This is it. We did it. We... we made it. Only minutes to go." said Malaya incredulously, a wide uncontrollable smile spreading across her ape like face. She broke out and headed in front of them, and then turned back, "Come on!" and rushed near the start of the gigantic cylinder. Revan patted WM's head and the droid moved forward quicker as well. Out of anticipation, the entire group ran through the dark tube – it was a straight shot according to Malaya and half a hour later, stumbling through a wide doorway, they entered into a open hall, the ceiling and the walls only discernible using optical enhancements, the top covered in a crown of tube, the ends of various tunnels coming together and projecting, curling downward. Dwarfed by the magnitude of the room, they walked forward solemnly – "We must only endure shadows for so much longer. Push past them, eyes blinded. Push past them, lost. Push past the shrouds, the cobwebs, for we are coming to a place of light." Malaya said in an ecstatic whisper. "I can feel it. I can feel it in in me - it's here."

They walked relatively sightlessly, but as Malaya said, trusting to find something in the darkness, hopeful and fearless. They found what they were looking for eventually; their eyes and equipment locating it one by one, the city sized dome; as if it was savior, a saint visiting them individually, a messiah in a crowd still speaking to each person by themselves; one person exclaiming of it's discovery was not enough for all perhaps because deep down in their hearts they thought it not to be possible, and could not believe unless they too observed. "There it is! It's here. It's whole!" shouted Ezekiel - Tack Tackathon thrust a gauntleted hand in the air - "Yes!" Mab cried a laugh, Carth said,"I don't believe it" and Raskgogive held his ax over his head, cheering joyfully. Revan remained unaffected as always, perhaps glad for them but unable to feel it himself, or express it, and Serik whipped off his visor, his face appearing naked without it, laid bare and astonished, and squinted his eyes, leaning his head forward.

"Where?" asked Mission, whipping her head tails around frantically, and Malaya jumped off her steed and began to run to the foot of the building, where it started to swell into a protective cap. When she was halfway there, sprinting, it became obvious and noticeable, past a vague hint or outline, to all. It was a faded brown color, the hue of ancient ruins hidden in the corners of the world, and part of the roof was crumbled, a huge fracture, vines and plants growing out, some of them covering and twining across further surface then just the area around the hole. There were four doors, massive, two missing completely, creating nothing more then holes, and one wide open, the one they were heading at.

When they reached it, they saw Malaya was standing in the doorway, directly in the middle of it, the huge square rising above, towering over her, the two thick metallic slabs coming off it agape doing the same; looming. She looked over her shoulder at them ,"I did it" she said proudly."I found it" and then wiped away a tear and stared forward again. "Well, let's look inside then" said Revan, descending from the war droid;the rest of the overworlders did the same. They paused for a second, poignantly, enchanted, at the entry way and then went inside, WM shooting beams of light out of it's arms, scanning them across the ceiling, revealing an elaborate collection of interconnected cracks and fissures. Reven let loose the two floating discs once again, and Malaya pulled a small green lantern out of her satchel; one of the twirling droids descending, spinning into it, through the top, and then a small burst of light, and a tiny orb expanded, green as well, filling it, pushing up against the exterior, and creating a light source.

The room was filled with plant life of all sorts, a crowded jungle, and hidden in the growths were long consoles, projecting golden brown screens, lanky robots, frozen, and deactivated, and long thin rectangles protruding of the walls, into the center of the room, a single sliding door at the end the entry way to them. Some were smaller, tiny almost 2D wafers (when viewed in comparison to the rest of the dome - then again everything was miniscule) while others were skyscrapers on their sides – not all these rectangles began on the ground; some wrapped around the interior of the dome, blinking lights and small windows signifying their existence, or hung above.

T3-M4 searched around for computers - "T3 will be able to connect with the computers and work them - we downloaded your notes." (some of Malaya's information was not on the Promised Land's location, but runic reams of instructions and codes and symbols with great power.)

"Exactly, _my _notes. I'll be able to control this place too – I think I can do it. " She, by a computer panel, held up a a long floppy sheet, referring to it, and began rotating spheres and shoving her fingers into certain spots on them, as if they were bowling balls - a set of huge spotlights turned on by T3 pierced the darkness and hit the ground before she accomplished anything. Minutes later one by her did turn on, however.

She opened up a thin screen, on another computer near by, and continued typing and moving – the computer panels were golden entrusted chests, aged with seclusion, and the floating brass light, rich and impressive; sophisticated, the treasure inside. The underdwellers continued touring, now all on their horses as the place was huge, occasionally leaning over to activate a machine or attempt to manipulative it. Serik walked over to one of the rectangles, a smaller one, and opened it's door, a gust of cold frozen air drifting out. He called over to T3 and entered inside. Malaya typed on another screen, and the whole western corner of the room lit up, showing a fresh, verdant patch - not some dusty tangled mess- , a few subsections opened up, and descended, sliding on rails, from the upper edges, and a squadron of robots activated, resting heads unfolding from chests.

Later Serik walked out of the room, beaming, holding ten vials, each placed in a tube bound with the others in a cylinder, and large slice of metal, a information carrier of some kind. Revan walked towards the doctor – "This is it! I was looking in medical wing and found it. The cure and serum itself! I've downloaded most of their data into T3-M4 - the rest that I didn't want to wait for I just pulled out. I've looked over their equipment - we have most of what is needed or can manufacture it easily. "

"That's ... that's great." said Revan, a lift in his voice.

Malaya joined the rest of the group – "So you found what you were looking for."

"As did you -"

"It's not just us madam!" said Serik excitedly. "This will benefit you as well. There are multiple cures in there and info on how to use them. I can leave my notes – T3- "

"Yes I'm sure. Everything here will be useful. Things are going to change."

"I sincerely wish that to be the truth."

Malay's face faltered for a second, but then brightened, determinedly, once again." It will. Maybe you don't understated how good this for, how much this will help."

Good luck" said Revan grabbing her hand and patting her shoulder.

"Good luck to you as well."

"Yes" said Ezekiel – now everyone was gathered together, except for Raskgogive , was was riding his steed deeper still, pushing past snapping and slapping branches and leaves vigorously, swiftly. "I have an inkling your mission is far more important then ours."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps every little bit helps everywhere. That's what my master would have said." He nodded once again and turned away, walking off. Mab stared at the three "Hold the line. Remember what we talked about" looking at Ezekiel. "Carth and I aren't giving up on you." Carth inclined his head but looked uncomfortable, lost for words. "We understand" said Tack, "We're made it this far. We can wait longer."

"Can't we take them with us! i mean you did with me" asked Mission innocently.

"They don't want to come with us." replied Mab and Mission looked at them with a shifting view, seeing the heroism buried in the three standing there, obscured by the fact that they cut an unimpressive pose, were malnourished, bloody, and weary.

Mab grabbed Malaya's arms once again "Say good bye to Raskgogive for me." and then she and the two others left us well - Serik stayed behind briefly; she saw him gesturing and talking, attaching a cable from T3-M4 to a small droid he pulled out of his pack, one that he had been programming in the makeshift medical base.

Mab caught up to Revan, and they walked outside together, the others behind them, the journey taking twenty minutes.

"We can take some shortcuts on the way back – now that we no longer have the burden of extra people we will be able to go faster and more surely. Our time will be halved – everything might work out in end after all."

Later: "What do you think? Have we even done any good, or is it all going to be swallowed up?"

They stared at the outside of the dome, Carth, Mission, Serik, and T3-M4 at their side ."I think it's going to get better" Revan said after a thoughtful pause - at that moment, a large spider mech, with primitive mechanical legs, climbed out of the hole in the roof, breaking part of it away, and clambered down the side, two thin speeders burst out of the doors facing away from them, going in separate directions, and a hovercraft, a mounted turret on it's back, through a hole in the wall flew as well, followed by a huge regiment of droids, also heading on it's own path. It was the most profoundly epic moment of Mab's life so far.


	7. Chapter 7

This is the end of Part One, and shall by the start of my break in writing this story.

**CHAPTER SEVEN: The Escape**

The group walked in a horizontal line across the connecting rooftops, Revan in the middle, Serik (dressed in a black coat, wearing a set of pointy gloves, tipped with needles and blades – the line between weapon and tool was blurred, especially in his case - and carrying a doctor's bag with a skull and crossbones on it's side; the obscure symbol was of an old faction of medical personnel on the planet – what it meant was - calling upon a seldom seen sight - in an age where there was hardly any need to deal with/cut open and enter the interior of one's body, as all healing and correction could be done with chemicals and regeneration boosters, or nanomites slipped in – they were willing to rip the flesh, ravage it, dig in deep, to bone, salvation by "any means necessary" – "we will rebuild you." if that what was called for; they would not stop or give up. To Serik it had a personal significance; he, particularly as a younger man, applied it to social issues - sometimes to solve a problem, one had to tear through all of civilization, in an orgy of gore.) and Mab on his sides, Carth (hand healed; where two fingers should have started, simply smooth stubs) and Mission on the outer edges, T3-M4 leading the way in excitement, constantly turning it's head back to look at them.

Serik was originally not suppose to come of course; his purported plan was to leave T3 with instructions and then at his house part ways with them – staying above to make sure the serum and cure got transferred to the members of AME, after which he would descend once again to the underworld, liquidating most of his property, this time permanently. At the manor however, he had what he claimed to be a sudden idea: – Revan doubted this and seemed quite irked - he would come with them to Coruscant, and attempt there to make presentations to those in power, preferably the representatives of the Chancellor, about the situation on Taris, using what he had obtained in the dome as demonstrations. - "Is this like last time; part of some scheme? Are you going to threaten us again?" - "No, you're done enough for me. This is merely a request. All I can offer is my expertise – it will be good to have someone making sure everything goes well in the shuttle." Revan eventually conceded, and Serik was very pleased – he told them before (as part of his argument) and after, in different words": "This is my once chance of getting the off Taris, to Coruscant"

They were taking the pathway, a lane of squares, to a launch pad – they had found a rocket ship that was due to go soon – an unmanned flight; it was suppose to reach one of the moons of the system and fall apart, releasing a satellite into orbit. It was the perfect craft to hijack – they shipped WM on – he had folded himself into a large rusty red square – as extra cargo, suddenly required, stored in the bottom of the vessel – and when it left the planet, T3 would hack the simple computers and redirect the course to a Republic fleet. There a small detachment would take them them to the inner planets - at which point they would be one hundred percent safe - where they could join up with a larger convey.

Inside the cramped quarters of the ship, they would bind themselves to the walls, and Serik would inject everyone with the serum, before turning the poison on himself – Revan still recommended they do so - have all transform – even though turning them _all_ to rakghouls was not absolutely essential – not the number one reason for the quest and the procedure, and he had been distorting the truth in the beginning, as Mab had discovered – "Mix lies with facts, aye? That's the way to do it?" asked Mab. "Indeed" said Revan, turning to her and staring at her in defiant guiltlessness.

They rounded a corner and began another long stretch – Revan stiffened, stopping and shouted "NO!" He thrust his hands out - they were large enough that he hit everyone (who were all in front of him - at an angle, because they turned to look at him, trying to determine why he halted.) sending them flying forward. Mab spun around his large paw and clutched onto his arm "What's going on!" as he stared at her with wide eyes. He didn't have time to speak – the air filled with lasers, crisscrossing over him, going past, terminating at some further points, or ending inches away from his body – it was as if he was in a iron maiden, surrounding him tightly at all angles, filled with glass and metal - in a room of spiked walls, slowly constricting. Revan whispered under his breath "automated sniper rifles, rail guns, rockets, droids, turrets, placement grenades, even ray beams dammit – they can go through walls!"

"Who's doing this?"

"He wants it so in my current state, with the present abilities of mine that I have available, whatever I do will harm me grievously. Whatever step I take. The only way to trap me."

The area in front of Revan, superfluously filled with lines of red, began to fold open – like a set of hands, fingers between fingers, linked together, widening, until there was a fence of crimson inches away from his nose, and then an empty space - instead of small thin triangle in front, and lines projecting past his body – in addition to other groups of rays. In this newly created division a man with a jet pack landed, coming in from a great arc, a large bounce almost, out of the horizon. He turned, looking at Carth, who has standing close by, watching in worry, guns in hand. He pointed a leather (cutoff) gloved finger at the gunslinger, and a small rocket shot and fell close by, expanding into a rippling yellow shield., blocking him off. The bounty hunter then rotated and poked a large yellow orb, holographic, and the lasers shifted slightly, while in the distance Mab observed faint movement.

"This must have cost a fortune, Calo. Have you thought of the cost-benefit ratio.?" said Revan, trying to act blithe , and succeeding quite well – yet Mab still felt that it was put on. The man walked forward mutely, ignoring him. "Although of course anyone who hunts me obviously _hasn't_ considered it full... as you can not buy anything when you're dead." Calo Nord continued on in silence, with the air of someone focusing intensely on more important things, a professional double checking, gaze flickering about – he then finally turned his eyes on the Jedi – they were mad and wide, burning with insanity and his movements, although confident and skilled, were belied by the character of his face: it was fragile and brittle, the twitching making it appear like it could break, or crumble into sobs at any second. It wasn't the twitch of nerves, anxiety - the ripples and jerks and blinks were the signs of someone put poorly together; someone who could fall apart at any second; someone cracked.

He had a long tangled beard, down to his chest, and wore a white loose cap, with hanging strands, held onto his head by the bands of his transparent goggles - over black and tan armor was a great coat of the Mandlorian Navy, blue with dusty brown shoulder pads and long armored pockets. From this belt - a bandolier, covered in thick metallic carriages, with holsters for two large silver pieces; multi- barreled revolvers - he pulled a set of hand cuffs – a pair of bulky squares linked together with a beam of energy. He held them out to Revan– a small opening appeared by the Jedi's stomach, for him to stick his limbs through.

"Whatever your plan is, Calo, you must understand it will inadvertently effect more then just me and you."

Calo gestured insistently, and Revan inserted his wrists into the clamps – Calo lead him forward slightly, the wall moving along with him - and then he pulled them back to his body, closely, protectively.

"The Exile is your enemy. Not me. She is the one who destroyed the Manalorions. If I hurt you, or angered you, you must understand it was to revenge... your race." Half way through, Revan began to talk with his eyes closed, to avoid Nord's hungry searching gaze – a strange gesture.

The lasers around Revan's face pulled back as Nord continued to listen intently, until only the red hot tips where on the side of his head, inches away form his hair. "I'm -" began Revan, but Calo Nord interrupted him, placing on hand on the man's cheek, a tear slipping down his face, muttering to himself. Mab blinked, confused at the odd turn this was taking, a little horrified, very uneasy ; it felt like anything could happen, anything could go wrong; they were at the mercy of a lunatic.

Revan's face twisted, an expression too complex to name with one emotion: shame, revulsion, disgust, embarrassment – Mab felt she could touch his mind again, and she was in contact with it as a deep thunderbolt of rage flashed through violently, almost instantly after Calo's touch – Revan only suffered it for a moment - when the swift fury , overriding everything else not only due to it's strength, but because it was composed, it contained melded together, all that came before it, hit he screamed a battle cry of inarticulate rage and ripped the cuffs apart, thrusting his hands into the air, and kicking Calo in the chest, knocking him over the side of the building - the lasers had briefly moved, been nudged along, by The Force, to allow this.

Immediately afterward they were enveloped in a whirlwind of heat, flame, laser, and rocket, attack in every direction – Revan grabbed her close to his body and he danced, flipping and turning, flinging himself forward and rotating in the air during the flight, constantly in motion. She could not see, as all around was red and yellow, a prison of fiery bars, and she often squeezed her eyes shut in terror, occasionally putting a foot or hand down to push in time with a unresistable command shot into her thoughts. She felt Revan consciously taking hits, and knew he was sacrificing himself not only for strategic purposes - he could not avoid everything without using his full potential- but to protect her, as she had not be wounded, as they spun and rolled. There was one final dive, and then a leap, and it was over; they tumbled across a hard surface, and came to a stop, Mab, rolling out of Revan's now loose arms.

She lay prone, breathing hard for a second, and then got up – they were three building's away, diagonally, from their starting point, although had not been a direct route - four buildings bore the brunt of the assault, flaming, their tops crumbling and raining debris. She walked over to Revan; he was lying on his side, a vague bulky shape of a cloak; a smoldering ruin. Smoke rose off of him and when she turned him over, a plume ascended out of his right eye socket – it was a gaping hole. His left hand was sheared off as well, and all across his bodies raw slices and burns appeared, revealed in the slits of torn fabric. She lifted him up, propping him on her body as he groaned – Carth, climbing up a escape stairwell, hopped over the side of the roof and got under Revan's other arm and together they hobbled, supporting him. Soon Serik, Mission, and T3 joined them, Mission yelping as she saw the wounded Jedi, Serik grabbing a syringe and pointing it – having to maneuver past Revan's slouched, slumping body, at an angle - underneath his pectoral muscle.

"We're almost there Revan." said Carth - moments later "See look!" The automated rocket, a long white tube with a separate piece, an orb, in the center, surrounded by scaffolding was directly in front of them, ten or eleven building away. "We're going to make it!" They continued holding him up, although he helped as well, walking in step with them with weak legs.

They left one building, and were crossing what appeared to be the remnants of an old, decrepit highway, rammed between two structures as a bridge, when the end of it was hit with a thick crackle of bluish energy. The beginning froze, and then exploded into a thousand small shards – the bridge fell downwards – the buildings were closer lower, and because of this the bridge ground against metal and glass, tearing up the sides, until it gradually halted, creating a steep slope. There was moment,. although Mab couldn't quite tell where, a blur of something humanoid - due to all the chaotic jumbling, Mission was jolted off her feet, and she slid downward, screaming – where the bridge terminated, a man now stood, having cut a hole through the tower. It was the Disciple, and in his hands he spun his blue lightaber, creating a dangerous trap for Mission to fall into and be ripped apart, a rotating blade. T3-M4 raced forward, and Mission grabbed onto him – Carth ran forward as well, leaving a progressively more alert Revan for Mab alone – he ran downwards, gathering speed, but pedaled his feet to slow down, stopping completely when he shoved a foot at the droid – he grabbed Mission with one hand, helping her up and gripped T3-M4 with the other and began to return – but before they left the spot he shot three beams at the disciple, the twe'lik holding on. The Disciple deflected them and they flew back - T3 beeped and flicked - with a whip like mechanical manipulator, snapping at his heels - Carth, causing him to stumbled slightly – the beams went over his head. They then scrambled up slowly and carefully, Carth and Mission slouching over and holding onto the droid.

Because Mab was intently watching, she did not notice that Revan had extricated himself from her grasp, and was standing tall. When the group was resembled he said "Go. I'll meet you at the rocket." Mab protested immediately. "You disobedient only harmed me last time! Now go!" Carth grabbed Mab's hand and they raced off, their destination only as short distance away – Revan ignited his light saber and walked towards The Disciple steadily.

They reached the ship – it was enclosed in a large skeletal frame of metal and pipes, with a staircase winding around it, hugging close to the body. Carth, (lowering his head and practically charging) Serik, (breathing horrendously, arms pumping) and Mission (leaping and skipping large amounts of steps, flying practically, lekkus waving) barreled up the flight of stairs, T3 behind. Carth slowed down and turned back to look at Mab, who had not begun climbing yet, Mission mimicking him – "Mab, come on! It's going to leave in any second! He'll make it! Don't wait for him! " "I'm staying here! Give me a couple seconds!" The gunslinger shook his head vigorously, scolding her and then grabbed Mission, continuing up – Mab moved away and positioned herself in front of the ship and the pathway leading to it, pulling out a rifle, clipping several grenades to the side of the barrel – in which position they could be launched – legs spread wide, gun pointing forward; she was holding out for the Jedi.

Serik was inside the hatch and stuck his head out screaming to Carth, Mission, and the droid: "Hurry!" They were halfway there where a light blast of flame, only the very beginning of the sequence, exploded out of the bottom of the rocket, the waves knocking out the starting supports of the scaffolding, causing it to sag and crumble. The metal collapsed, sliding off – slowly at first, but then picking up speed – Carth and Mission fell wildly, head over heels, Carth holding onto the twe'lik, in a rain of metal. With one arm , as he rolled through the air, he blocked pipes and sheets, using his shield. They dropped towards the ground on their side – Mab observed T3 plummet straight down as well, quickly, in one uninterrupted direction like a rock, squealing – he was buried onto a pile of debris – they landed, Carth thrusting out his arm, having the shield expand to cover the side of his body that was going to impact – they hit, the cement cracking. Mab ran into the barrage, dodging chunks of steel, occasionally deflecting them with a shield she was holding, sending them bouncing away – Carth picked up Mission and sprinted, trying to get out of the radius, weaving back and forth – a set of scaffolding fell at them – there was a thick blast of laser, and out of the mass that had covered T3 the droid zoomed out, carving his way - Carth kneeled, hovering protectively over Mission, both closing their eyes – T3, acting much like Mab , twinned through the chaos, pieces still ricocheting about, bursting off, or just about to fall and raced past Carth, shooting a net of red lasers without stopping – one red laser actually, moving quickly and frantically touching everything that was falling at them, briefly, at least once, like refracted light bouncing everywhere – the metal melted and splattered, Carth holding up part of his coat over his body like a cape, catching the splashes of sizzling silver.

Most of the metal had fallen now or was out of the way – Mab moved quickly, shifting her feet, around piles of it, still running towards the two – the energy coming out of the rocket became greater, and began to bellow and rumble outwards, the area shaking – one final scaffolding, one that that had hit a building and been propped up momentarily, slid and fell towards Carth and Mission – Carth shouted and pushed Mission out the way, and by then it was to late – Mab flew at him, knocking him in the chest, sending them both flying, avoiding the crash. They landed, she on top of him, near the flames – making their faces glow red and orange. They paused for a moment, then scrambled up, and ran towards Mission and the pile. Carth held out a small square pushing a button on it – out of the metal his guns – which he had dropped when Mab tackled him – flew like boomerangs through the cracks, the spaces between the tangled mass, and into the air. He caught them in his raised hands, and then shoved them into his holsters - turning towards the rocket he said very audibly "fuck." Serik, looking down, shouted something at them.

There was a sound behind them, and they turned – Revan walked towards them, very gingerly, covered in plaster and dust. "I didn't have the opportunity to kill him – so I just collapsed the building of both of us. It should prevent him from contacting the Exile." He looked up at the rocket with was now vibrating with an inscrutable expression, then starred a Mission and T3-m4 "Let's go. You first." He pulled Mission to him, and grabbed onto T3's frame, crouched down, paused, gathering his energy, then leap int the air, flying upwards – he smashed into the rocket, a way above the hatch. Holding Mission's hand completely in his own, he lifted it back, and smashed it against the rockets steel, making a dent. He then did the same with his other arm, and kicked both his feet in. "Hold on in these!" T3-M4 stuck to the side, and on it's underbelly a laser started going around, like a can opener – Serik peeked out and closed the hatch door, sealing it.

Revan pushed away from the rocket with his feet, flipping backwards, and then fell straight. Mab looking , neck craned, at him, threw up his shield – Revan landed on it, feet on the inside, standing as if it was a board, and a few seconds later hit the ground, shattering the surface of it, and slide, with one foot, the shield into the flames causing it to disintegrate. He grabbed Carth and Mab on the hips, pulling them to his own – the flames became more intense and roared towards them –– the rocket began to wobble and lift off slowly and clumsily - the burning fuel became a column of fire coming out of the end, covering and spreading out over the floor, thinly, like an undulating blanket – Revan leapt once more, and they landed a little further away from the first point. The rocket was fully operational now, in the air, and the wind and gravity tore at them, the speeding shoving them down. Revan helped them climb upwards slowly, smashing hand holds until they reached T3 – who had cut a half circle. Revan ignited his lightsaber, holding onto the ship with one hand, the other blowing into the air, wrenching part of his body back, and then (pushing T3 aside first) shoved the swords in the hull, ripping open a hole. They climbed inside – there was a grate floor only a little way down, coming from the sides of the rocket, a thin metallic base with a hole in the middle – which Serik, climbing a ladder had come through - and Revan set about to weld the makeshift entry shut shut – he got a third through, the metal bubbling and glowing, and collapsed, falling onto his back, head leaning loosely in exhaustion, blood bubbling out of his mouth, covering his face. Carth picked up his saber and finished the job.

As Mab leaned by Revan, holding his massive head, Serik moved quickly, first putting down the device that would manufacture oxygen and create protection - and then attaching shackles to Mission and Carth – metallic semi circles that magnetically connected to the wall. Mission went first, jumping up into the air; Serik threw the device at her right arm, and it attached to her in mid leap, pinning her to the wall – she hung briefly until Serik threw the other one at her, evening her out, and then connected her legs. He scanned her body, imputing calculations, attached a few small gadgets in various places, and then stabbed a finger into her thigh. She threw her head back, and screamed – her scream deepening and her throats tendons thickening – the disfigurement of one's throat when roaring and shouting seemed to became permanent; the freakish and disturbing (even in mundane situations) twisting and stretching of the skin and muscle normal, the base line.

- "T3" groaned Revan. "Direct the ship as planned. and when we are halfway there release a unsecured message to the fleet that we are coming. Hopefully the exile will read it... and believe it. As long as Calo doesn't contact her before we do, the planet should be safe!" He held out a small thin chip and then threw it. "Leak this to authenticate it."

Carth was now secured against a different wall, and Serik injected him as well – his stomach thrust forward with a yelland Mab distinctly heard his spine snapping – Mission contorted and bent, foaming at the mouth, eyes white, slamming her body vigorously against the side of the ship. Serik walked over to them – "I am going to inject myself now. My case requires more work and analysis - merely because I am Trandosian - then the others, and I want to get it out of the way." He handed them two syringes – they were scrolling LEDS on both. "I have prepared these. They say the times when to inject them – T3 will have further instructions. " T3 beeped – it had rolled near, still connected to the wires, which were trailing behind.

"Okay Revan, let's get you set up." She hoisted him up and stumbled with his heavy frame – he slammed against a wall, and began to slide again. Serik put two of the clamps again his portion of the wall and jumped up on them, using them as footholds, employing his claws as climbing equipment as well. He shoved several biomedical computers, which looked like cassettes, into his body, yellow blood oozing over, and began typing on a hologram. Mab grabbed Revan around the waist, and threw him against the wall; lugging him up with great effort, body checking him and then pinning one of his hands. Serik finished his preparations, clamped his hands, and then slipped his feet in the wide holes, which tightened. He moved his neck to a side, and poked himself with a syringe, at the end of a long talon. Mission was a full rakghoul now, snarling and spitting, attempting to wretch her body free – Carth was half, his skin moving and bulging, ripping open – the tears like gills almost, that closed and reformed into something else. Five and a half minutes to contact with the first orbs, Mab had bound all of Revan's limbs, and T3 have finished his customization of the treatment - rotating all the small disks on Revan's leg – "beep beep doot!" Mab stared in Revan's eyes, holding the needle in both hands, at the base, standing a few inches away from him, breath tickling his face. "Are your ready?" "Yes" He returned her gaze. "do it." She thrust the needle forward violently, stabbing him in the stomach; he groaned in pain, jerking his face forward, then pulled his body flat again the wall, closing his eyes, still.

Mab walked over to the final open space and pinned her legs, balancing and keeping upright. T3-M4 poked and prodded her, and with around two and half minutes left, her window of opportunity rapidly approaching - before it would be too late; she wouldn't change in time – she made to immobilize her right arm, the syringe in one of T3's head slots – Revan's eyes bulged open, revealing yellow slits, and he roared, his mouth wide and deformed, filled with fangs, the skin around it gray and cracked , his face partially transfigured: "NORD!" Mab felt it too and it changed everything – she would need Revan's wisdom and assistance now – but there was still the problem of the orbs. "T3, quickly inject me and the moment we past the security field, turn me back with the cure!" "Beep doop beep?" T3 said quizzically; they had not planned on anything like this, and Serik notes did not say if such a rapid switch was healthy or even possible: ..._anything was possible with the Force, _she reassured herself, gathering courage. She would just have to keep her mind cool and focused like Revan had – until he lost control that was, as he now whipped back and forth, long strings of saliva flying form his mouth, his stump bleeding yellow goo, horrific mouth still attempting to form words, growls almost sounding like curses. "We have to. Make as skilled adjustments as you can!" T3-M4 attached a wire to a patch on her arm and then stabbed her with the syringe – there was a rush of nausea and she slammed her eyes shut, whimpering.

The fleet of The Exile was approaching Taris quickly - it had been woken from it's lazy slumber, had dropped out of it's repose a few minutes earlier. Using her nascent abilities, ones she believed where unique to her, and few others, she felt the makeup of the armada, it's design, the webs of power and communication that ran through it - the formation and placement of their ships and the links between them, the machines and man who ran them. But as she continued to observe its attributes, she reached beyond all this, beyond the material, and glimpsed what was truly important - like the blood and muscle beneath skin, the view inside through a window covered in dust, the dark center of storm, crackling lighting twisting and melding, obscured by blackening clouds: all the physical matter was merely a cloak of steel and flesh, one that she brushed aside, or a veil that was gradually removed for her. The ships were glass, transparent, and through them she saw something too terrible to consider fully: she saw the armies dark engine, it's motivating force, driving it through willpower alone – once she looked at it fully, realizing it's existence, it could not be unseen; her mind dissolved into panic – she lost all coherence and descending spirally into a nervous breakdown – a sense of cosmic annihilation combined with the animallistic schizophrenia of the blight broke that which she had been trying to defend.

Eventually out of this hot madness and fear she gradually emerged; herself again. She had ridden the transformation of both her mind and body better then the average person, and as the clamps loosened – T3 had injected her moments before - she stepped out, running over to Revan, shaken yet resolute, tears running down her face (and this was disturbing, as she did not feel or observe them, they simply leaked; as if the mere situation was horrific enough people could not help but unconsciously weep) – like someone still going on after a great blow, crawling on their scratched and torn hands and knees. He was still pinned, his chest - shirt ripped open - sweaty and gray, the scales climbing up to his neck, eyes and forehead monstrous as well. She undid his feet clamps and then voice deactivated the ones holding his arms, and caught him haphazardly in her arms as he fell, steadying him – she felt his mouth nuzzle at her neck, rough and sharp, and threw/dumped him down onto the ground – he lay there, face first. He began to crawl, moaning, "no no no." and then pulled himself up, pounding against the side of the ship. "It's happening! It's all my fault!"

"Revan!" she shouted and rushed to him, spinning him around. "Calm yourself" Through trying to take care of him, she became more steady herself – she pressed her forehead against his, and stroked his wet hair, the last part of her that was mutated, a long fingered, talon hand, shrinking back to normal size. Touching his mind through the bond, she brought him back, to as even a level as was possible. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. She's here. Her fleet is almost fully assembled. " He walked over to T3 and gestured, a holographic screen popped up. "I can contact her, both by sending a direct message and mentally, - it will draw her away- but..."

Mab waited.

"We aren't far away enough!" he shouted in agony, his voice cracking. "We haven't reached a safe point!" The screen showed a pathway, a trajectory, with a small yellow dot – there was a point were the line turned green – they were about three minutes away – until they were protected.

Mab realized what he was going through and came to his side quickly, nervously. "Wait!"

His finger hovered over a holographic button- the push of the button would be almost be like the start of a ritual, allowing him to focus enough to send a arrow of thought the Exile's way – it was the preparation, the activation, the boundary crossed.

"A whole planet! A whole planet " he said, grinning wildly, as if it was some ridiculous joke to be in such a conundrum , to even consider the options. "It is not worth a whole planet Mab." - his voice rich with sorrow - he was not the same Revan who had spoken before so coolly of sacrifices and stratagems; his face twitched, eyebrows raising and lowering spastically on a pallid face.

"If you do it now, she will catch you. You're the only one who can stop her! You know it!"

He hesitated – "push it right when we - "

"I have to do it now. "

"Revan wait, we're almost there. Just hold on."

"There isn't enough time!"

"Almost! Almost! Get ready! We're going to make it."

He stayed tense and ready, both of them close to the screen, as near as possible and rapidly speaking with each other. "We're close. Just hold out!"

"Steady!"

"Mab!"

Revan readied himself, but then screamed, clutching his head and falling back, rolling around on the ground in agony. Mab stumbled back as well, completely overwhelmed, mind blotched out with utter dread.

**Cutscene:**

_The control center of The Ravager is like a cave, wide, dark, with arched far away walls, and rough, pocked metal. In the center of it, looking out of the clear shield that is acting as a window, stands The Exile. She is an average sized women, but looks taller, for she is skeleton thin - her fingers sticks, her face tight and defined from every angle. She wears torn black ropes, a collection of long rags and strips that fail to cover her in some spots as they hang loosely in random tears; she has a fish belly, revealed, a thick knotted scar going up it, and her feet, bare, stick out. She has long black hair, once curly, now still slightly twisted, hanging lankly. Her eyes and mouth are sown shut with black thread., each stitch long and separate from the other, like the bars in a railroad track. _

_Surrounding her are many assassins, a few soldiers and engineers in assorted uniforms of different cultures and armies, haphazardly thrown on, dead in the eyes, and a couple Sith – although they avoid her mostly, feeling her hunger for them. (The Assassins do not fear her, as she wants nothing from them – what she does is merely what they could learn, eventually, given time, and thus they are incompatible.) _

_A Selkath, dressed in the uniform of a Republic Admiral, but with a light saber on his belt, walks to the Exile's side, stares at her, then turns to those in the room. "Clear out. Immediately." _

_They leave quickly – when the last depart, the Selkath, Ovulk Dartk, the man who has replaced Bastila as head of the military and the dark side users, kneels at the Exile's feet, grabs her pale copse hand, and kisses it. "They are calling out to you, begging. I can hear them. Remove them from this torment they call life. Offer them a way out. Give them their salvation." He lets go, and her limb drops lifelessly, flapping to her side. He stands, nodding, and walks out.. As he leaves, the shielding lowers, sucking the few loose objects out of the room. The Exile's locks twist in the air like contorting snakes, like Medusa – the Exile rips her mouth and eyes open, all at once, the stitches pinging off, bursting away and floating, revolving through the air, now slowly, as the vacuum had been solved. She says, thrusting her hands out towards the planet in front of her powerfully, almost as an afterthought, or a private remark to herself, in a raspy, ghost voice that builds "I care nothing for their SAL-**VA****-TION!**"_

* * *

Revan and Mab twisted and cried on the ground, and luckily their collapse into unconsciousness, an empty blackness startlingly similar to that which devoured Taris, was mercifully quick.


	8. Chapter 8

**edited with help from reviewers  
**

**

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**Please comment.

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An understanding of KOTOR 2 is essential. Here are some notes on Kreia, her objectives, and other miscellaneous facts/ ideas -all of this is as I interpret it - the problem with KOTOR 2 is that it's unfinished and a lot can be missed, and a lot can be seen in different ways.

**Kreia's history:**

Exiled

Fights in Mandlorien Wars

Thought to have died on Malachor V

Stayed low first quarter of Jedi Civil War, trying to figure out why Reven fell

Reven is captured.

Finds Trayus Academy, falls to the darkside, learns of Reven's plans, and becomes Headmistress

Is not in contact with Malak; breaks ties with the sith empire

continues training assassins

calls Nilhius to her

calls Sion to her during the fall of the Sith empire

get stripped of the Force and exiled

comes into contact with the Ebon hawk and T3

Atris calls exile back to space

Kreia meets with the Exile

* * *

**Kreia's beliefs and goals**

_"According to Traya, those who had chosen death, or the Jedi who chose the dark side, over a life devoid of the Force were not strong enough to deserve life."_

_"Despite her loathing of the Force, she still used it; she explained it by comparing herself to one who uses poison. Just as such a person would strive to understand the lethality behind poison, so she strived to understand the particularities of the Force, thereby enabling her to destroy it. Traya envisioned a galaxy that would choose not to acquiesce to the will of the Force. She thought she could achieve this by showing how one could willingly abnegate the Force and eventually become stronger for it, and it was the Exile who was a living testament to this. In her teachings with the Jedi Exile, she emphasized how dependent the Jedi and Sith were on the Force, and how they had become flawed for it. By making the Exile her protégé, she hoped her message would resonate with future Force-sensitives so they would choose to use the Force without necessarily bending to either extreme, and certainly not to the point where they would choose death over life without the Force. Ultimately, though, she dreamed of a galaxy lacking of the Force altogether, as it was her belief that the galaxy would be better off that way. "_

"_There is no truth in the Force. But there is truth in you, Exile. And that is why I chose you._"

"So you will do nothing? Apathy is death. Worse than death, because at least a rotting corpse feeds the beasts and insects. "

(to a darksided exile) "_This is what you have wrought, countless murderous, slayers, assassins, born of war that has as always taught the wrong lesson. You showed them life without the Force, and instead of showing them truth, power all you showed them is how the galaxy may die."_

Show the Jedi balance; defeat and change the order philosophically.

Show the Jedi how to live without the force.

Disconnect everyone from the force, if at all possible/ destroy the force. (For multiple reasons, including protecting the galaxy against the True Sith) If it wasn't possible, she wanted to create a better order, so it would be there when Reven needed it. (Just as Canderous was gathering the Mandloriens, GO-TO perfecting the Republic, the Exile the Lost Jedi ect)

* * *

**Patterns/symbols:**

Without the force, to use force abilities one must consume/feed on others. The Exile and Nilhius after being wounded could only use this second style; the Jedi Exile never regained her connection with the Force.

_Reven: heart of the force: the best one could become with the Force_

_Sion: slave of the force, slave of life. Lord of Pain._

_Nihilus: the absence of the force - the way the universe can die without the force. Lord of Hunger._

_Exile: the absence of the force - the way the universe can live without the force. _

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Jewel; Its Facets  
**

(A scene I forgot to put it. It was suppose to happen as Mab is rolling on the ground, right before she collapses completely.)

_A quick succession of images, laid over the mounting dread. All of them seemed to be from a first person perspective, from a moving, bouncing fully fallible, fully human vision. Unedited. Raw. Uncut, one could say. Vuncroy, healthy, soft, walking on stage as a younger Revan fled briskly, eyes downcast – her face was stoutly determined. A transport shuttle ascending, kicking up a cloud of dust – Revan called to it, and then fell to his knees. A huge man with a shaven head, a short, immature Disciple, standing next to the Exile– they stared in horror – there were explosions in the distances – the Exile clawed at her face. The Exile, thinner, shaking her head – she and others were formed in a circle – a council of sorts – next to her, an older women with a round face - the complexion flawless, a light brown with a slight hint of red, creamy, smooth - and beautiful silver hair, falling in ringlets, smiled to her self lightly. The Exile talking– a voice that sounded much like her own replied coldly "It's the only way; sacrifices must be made." One final vision; on a flight of metallic stairs so she was – with the high ground - backed by a circular window looking out at the abyss of space, the Exile stood, entirely dressed in black – her thin body made her appear to be nothing more then a dark slit or abyss, somehow standing out, even thicker and denser in comparison to that behind her. She asked "Is there anything for you?" There was a hesitant pause, then movement – the watcher had fallen into a position of supplication, staring into the void. "There is nothing."_

_

* * *

_

When she awoke she was laying in a bed, a thin cot, floating, each part of it constantly shifting – slightly, almost unnoticeably - to accumulate her weight and position; it was like laying on a living creature - Revan - sat near by, pointed her way, face in his hands. "How long have I been out?"

"Five days" he said softly, speaking into the meat of his palms – muffled. When he looked at her, she noticed his face had been healed - not a surprise - and his hair had been styled in his trademark manner, the one she always saw at conferences – swept to one side, the bangs a thick block floating over the left eyebrow – and his face was clean shaven – he wore a simple set of black cloths as well, tight and well cut, also familiar and famous. Yet, even thought it was obvious he had been attended to, he looked the worst she had ever seen him – he was definitely fitter; his face no longer had a pallid tightness to it, but signs of something worse than mere illness was prominent in the sockets around his deadened black eyes; all the pain was there - shrunken and lined with shadow - when she brushed his mind, depression and self loathing was clear, right on the surface. He did not try to hide it, and it floated around him, like a cloud – he stared at her blankly.

"Are you okay?"

"That's not who I'm worried about" he said, still expressionless, and leaned over her. He pushed away her hair from a sticky forehead, and laid a hand over it, resting it there for a second. He then backed away, walking to the door, still directed her way, his eyes darting fathomlessly in various directions, a thin line of concern on his brow – this was another aspect of his stoic, taciturn personality, one that went hand in hand with his habit of simply gazing at people when asked questions, if he deemed them below him and his long, impolite pauses. "The Jedi council wishes to see you." he said finally.

She shifted so she was sitting on the bed, the droids still orbiting and scanning her, or projecting heat to create an even blanket – she felt warmth covering her bare skin almost like a tangible object.

"There are clothes in the wardrobe if you wish to go covered."

She got up, and hobbled over to the thin chest against the wall – the room was constructed out of what appeared to be stone, brown, old - and she passed a wide window (a rectangular gap in the wall, like a widow in an ancient temple) peaking out an a incredibly complex visage – in the immediate view plants of all types trailed downwards from this window, growing from the open ledge, with vines and tangles coming from above as well. The slice of metal opened, and she quickly pulled on a billowing brown shirt, and slipped on some simple black leggings – they seemed significant to her in their colors and form, but her mind was not fully working.

"Taris. Revan... " - it slowly began to rush back to her, after she pulled the elastic, tight fabric up to her waist- " How is Taris? Don't tell me -"

He stared at her mercilessly, and began to walk out of the cell – she followed after quickly, fears growing and crowding everything else out. The room they left was one of the only solid parts of the building, strangely – a block of rock suspended in hard light – the rest of it was constructed out of walls of blue and purple energy, force fields, spacious and airy, with wide corridors and halls everywhere, along with several openings, skylights, gaps, and portals, letting in the sun from above and the side. They exited the current path they were on, and entered into a simple square area with a few chairs, also constructed out of this energy – here Carth, Mission, and T3-M4 waited, a large holoscreen playing some sort of announcement at one end of the room.

Carth, (hair slicked back, a few stubborn strands hanging away, handsomely, stubble managed) hearing them enter, turned and looked at Mab, and then ran towards her – he, wearing a tight red suit underneath his trenchcoat, (the crimson helmet of a Naval officer laying on the chair near by) adorned with a chip, a square of silver glass, on the right side of his chest, displaying, in rotation, his positions, awards, specializations and corp memberships (along with a the patch of the Republic over the top, sewn on, a dark blue circle with stars in the middle, these stars growing larger and brighter until exploding, the cycle then continuing – around the edge of this badge were the words – in Basic –: "This Has Happened Before And Will Happen Again" the motto of the Republic) swept her into his arms.

She shouted and embraced him – however it was brief. She grabbed his right hand - the one previously wounded - and felt it, fumbling, caressing, holding the new, replaced fingers, looking at him, smiling lovingly, with fond excitement. (Mission lingered behind them both, an unsure smile, looking a little fragile, the flesh around her eyes smeared with pink; rimmed and stained. T3 was in one spot, vibrating slightly, humming in pleasure, obviously connected {and loving it} to the wireless network of wherever they were - when it noticed she was there, it jolted - the metaphor "hooping out of it's skin" particularly appropriate, although it would be frame in this case - and came towards her, forgetting it was connected to a thin cable as well {presumably for confidential information}; in it's excitement it was wretched and pulled back; it paused, went backwards, and took the time to disconnect itself, now coming again – dooting – a little more restrained.)

As she lay her head on his shoulder, she saw over it, on the screen, Revan from the hips up, the seal of the Republic behind him (grow, flash, begin) also wearing his military uniform , a more detailed – texturally – outfit, olive green, covered in lapels and buttons, also with the indicator of his rank on his right side – a cape of black over one shoulder, signifying his two positions as Jedi Master and Consul. He had an eyepiece on and stood in front of a sitting crowd of leaders and dignitaries.

"It was indeed a terrible lose. The Sith will pay eventually. They always have – and it is always us – not the random whims of fate – that deliver it in the end, that deliver pure justice, forcefully and righteously. They will pay.

...Next question."

There was a pause and he read blandly. "Were you there? Were you involved in the destruction of Taris, in any manner?"

He looked directly at the screen. "I in fact was not. However it was through several direct threats to my safety, and several direct schemes involving my person that this was allowed to happen. I had been...distracted – violently. Otherwise I could have worked to prevent it. Fortunately the traitors and spy network has been routed out – completely."

Mab let out a sob, and burst into tears– "You didn't tell her!" asked Carth shocked.

Revan looked away. "No !(a quick burst, not allowing this evasion) – You didn't tell her? I can understand not releasing some of the information to the public, but Mab was there – she deserves to know, before seeing it like this!"

Revan grabbed Mab's hand - roughly - and began to walk away – "They are expecting us."

"Wait!" said Carth, and reached for her other hand – as he grabbed her, because Revan was pulling, she lost her balance a little bit and stumbled. "Wait. Mission and I – we went to markets to get you something for your birthday."

"My birthday?" she said, voice weepy, a little questioning. Reven and her hands, interlocked, dropped limply - eventually Reven extracted himself.

"Yeah" said Carth, face drooping in sympathy, looking like he was about to cry as well. "Yeah, you missed it as you slept. We were ah going to get you a VR program or something, but you don't have a jack – well none of us in the Military do, but it seems like you're never even had one at all. Strange. Anyways..." He gestured and Mission came up behind him, backpack in front of her, dangling. Out of it she pulled a boxy droid – four poles, which were all originally pointing down, folded down, went in four diagonal directions with a metallic snapping noise, and it began to float, holograms screens and boxes coming off of it. "A camera" Mab said –

" Yes. You could link it up to T3-M4 if you wanted; it will definitely enhance the system– it looks like that will be his present, then – ha, (a short huff of a laugh, a small jerk of a smile, not reaching the rest of his face, causing his body and shoulders to move upwards, eyes only squinting more however, and looking sadder) he'll give himself."

"Doot root!"

"I..." "_thank you_." meaningfully.

Reven paused a little longer, looking at Carth thoughtfully. "Yes... thank you." and then he turned away, Mab now going willing at his side – before she went she lifted her right arm, and the droid attached underneath to the side of her torso, smugly, a metal rectangle. "I'll see you guys later. This... is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"You deserve it kid," Carth called after her – Mission was at his side, trembling, biting her lip, looking like she wanted nothing more then to run after Mab and threw herself into a huge hug – Carth noticed, and grabbed her, pulling him to her, resting his chin on her head. He whispered something inaudible – and then Mab was out of sight completely.

* * *

They continued forward for a few minutes longer, and then Revan pivoted sharply on the heels of his dark boots; he spared her a glance and said "Do not be alarmed." The purple circle underneath their feet vanished, and they plummeted, speeding downwards, through a spontaneously generated shaft of transparent energy – it pieced through great cavernous staterooms, similar collumums everywhere as well as tightly fit through segmented vestibules, cells and chambers, so close sometimes Mab gritted her teeth and crammed her eyes shut, the exterior almost brushing against people, furniture and walls.

When the beam went through wide, open spaces Mab visualized her appearance as close to, in theme, and content, but not exactly that of an angelical visitor descending with some message, in a shaft of light from the heavens above; her real, precise conception – because of the vastness and epicness of the areas, the very scope, and fact that she did not hover, slowly floating to earth is if on strings, but free fell, waving her arms and kicking her feet, had no control over this frightened movement of her body, hair streaming (but besides this was relatively composed, after the first few seconds of yelping, having knowledge of this form of intra-building transportation unique to high technology planets ) - was that of one of The Fallen – an archetype common to most primitive religions (a lion with a golden mane and brass wings; a fish like creature with scales of of armor) – instead of a radiant beam, and a calm, regulated descend, a blazing comet, blasting to blight the earth, flames coming off of an exiled, cast out body tumbling head over heels.

When they went through a room easily the size of a city, activity all around them, she felt profound, and heard the faint noise of orchestral music tinkling in her head – Reven left her side, gaining velocity, arms straight and pressed to his torso, hips, and legs, a thin sliver of speed becoming far beyond her.

As they went, Mab noticed more of the stone cells, of varying sizes and shapes, looking out place, almost as if they were suspended in a blue – purple gelatin slime, squares consumed by a blob – some were isolated on pillars, others pressed against the exterior, replacing the energy walls with their own, a few simply random parts in the honey comb of rooms, outliers, unique blocks every one hundred or so. They were cubes of unchanging solitude - for what purpose she could only guess.

They passed another division in the Energy Tower – a floor that she knew could, and probably was altered daily in any of it's many dimensions - and after that, quicker then perception, something flew just below them, allowed to go through their tunnel – they must have almost landed on it – Mab marveled at the coordination.

Finally, a few feet away from another floor, no space, hole created this time, simply dead end they raced at, they slowed down almost immediately, and levitated briefly before their feet were brushed daintily against the smooth, pore-less surface – the equipment required to subtract kinetic energy cleanly was incredibly advanced – she knew were she was.

Reven nodded at her, folded his hands behind his back, and went forward, down the hallway. They walked straight, every few yards coming to a wall that would open without any output from her or the Master – or so it appeared, until she realized that she had never seen, until this point, Reven unbridled completely; the sizable presence controlling a large corner of her mind was in fact awareness of this energy baking off him, and every action he did was either fully underlined – bolstered, supplemented, founded on - or performed completely through the Force; the changes in the environment all managed by him (through telepathic contact with the computers) with no indication at all. He was fully unleashed, unbound, no longer holding down or concealing his being in any way or form.

As they went past many slits and windows, from which a sweat fragrant breeze blew, Reven talked, voice sore and strained, as he had been speaking non stop for the last few days – and he probably had, which Mab marveled at – she knew how difficult it was even to get a few words out of him. " The building has been made into an hospital – run by the Jedi. In fact, this was the very location where your healing was performed, after the neological gas attack." He said this while turning her way, and arcing an eyebrow, as if he expected her to have an interesting reaction.

"It's a small universe." she grumbled. "...Or maybe the size of the universe doesn't matter, when you have something like The Force involved. Then it's just a interconnected universe." As she spoke this, a secure tube was created above them, at a ninety degree angle, passing through the horizontal axis of the building, and another hover car blasted by, a blur of silver.

"Perhaps."

When he started speaking he turned and a portal opened in the exterior wall to their right; as it did a balcony extended off the building, growing – "Or perhaps neither matters, when you have a planet like" - Reven was at the thick, hollow railing: "_Corusant." _and Mab looked around in astonishment at this – the platform was a rich reddish pink, off a tower of dark purple; from the thousands of gaps flowers grew, crimson roses, doting them like jewels, or blossoming off knotted, dropping vines. Roses and petals were constantly falling, disturbed by the alteration of the building, speeding cars, or other skyscrapers; it was a rain, not just from their tower, but others, a storm; regardless they either grew back automatically, or were recycled, sucked in in great streams of color at the bottom of the building – many separate rivers came in from different angles and positions, tentacles, - and were reattached. "As the capital, all routes lead to it. You will find yourself here, without even trying. It is like... a sink in a floor – everything...rolls it's way." He leaned forward on his elbows, hair ruffling slightly in the wind.

She looked his way, and was struck once again by his ability. It was obvious - it was awe inspiring - he was a star - but perhaps so was she. She could look directly at him without faltering, without fear, envy, bewilderment, or submersion, after a few minutes of getting used to it - that said something, didn't it. Perhaps only fire could be set directly across from fire, and not get burnt.

"We dropped down to this floor, because this floor was the closest that connects to The Sentinel Cathedral. Through the bridge we can enter and meet the Council."

She gazed around her; many other buildings were like this one, composed of energy of different colors, shaped into spires, covered in trailing plants of all forms and sizes, casting off buds and leaves in a cascade; all floated, and some moved, one, mobile, passing through another, still, either the top going through the bottom, vice versa, or through the side, grazing past, a few so extraordinary aligned one would go through 2/3 thirds of another, the inhabitants presumably near the 1/3 that was still separate – sometimes they both had destinations, both were moving and would pass through each other, both becoming intangible – ghosts buildings performing a ball room dance, wreathed in **orchids. **During all this, some ascended into space, piercing the sky, slowly, majestically, while others returned from orbit, or deeper regions.

"They really want to see me? Why?"

He paused. "I know about your vision, through our force bond... And have...informed them"

She paled, pulse racing, panicky, thinking of the mind shattering horror the presided and surrounded it. "What was it?"

"It's seems to have been." he hesitated "scenes from The Exile's life."

She bit her lip – "So I have a connection with her now?"

"For your sake, I hope not. I believe it was merely a...impression. One that will fade given time. If it is not – well there is the possibility you have a connection with her _history, _which is different and more manageable – this is one of things we will discuss, at the meeting."

She nodded, would have to accept this for now, and craned her neck upwards; the surface of their building was constantly rippling and flashing, holes appearing and disappearing; a large tunnel went through the center of the spire, the interior some kind of rounded, smooth cement – through it an unending stream of hovercrafts blasted; she followed it back, tracing it to the incredibly complex, shifting grid of traffic, regiments going in every direction, past and under each other. There were a great, intricate order beyond her comprehension; much like that underneath battle she sensed it, sensed the interlocking connections.

"Were the scenes accurate, to the best of your knowledge?" she said, distractedly, neck still stretched.

"Yes."

"Even the ones involving you? The one where all your friends left you?" she said, now giving him her full attention, staring intently.

As was common in situations like this when he was forced to admit or think of something he would prefer not to, his eyes deadened, his head bobbling slightly on his neck. "Yes."

They stared at each other.

"I didn't see Bastila" she said, feeling her way blindly; she was important to him – the air was tense, taut. She could touch his mind, but only felt the pain, the hatred; everything else was blocked off to her – as if the surface of his being was cratered, his wounds easy enough to spot, the holes easy enough to get finger holds in – in fact it was so beaten over it's features could be felt with eyes closed and a brushed hand - but anything behind this pocked crust hidden.

He opened his mouth with a click, and it was kept wide for a few seconds before slowly, carefully coming together to form worlds. "I know."

"Why do you think that is?"

Once again slowly, deliberately "You tell me. It was your vision."

"Well... I already have been having these dreams of Bastilla, maybe I just got sick of her. She was kind of an annoying bitch. Bit crazy" she said, tapping her head.

Reven laughed to himself, face pointing downwards, then looked at her. "Needed a bit of variety, aye?"

"As good an explanation as any." a beam starting to grow across her face -she felt utterly empty and exhausted inside, but some sort of sun was beginning to spread in the depths of this scoped out hollowness – she realized she always felt good if she could establish a connection with Reven, even if it was just for a moment.

His stared her, and then turned around, and gestured over his shoulder, his face softer, a bit friendlier, his movements lighter. "come on, they're waiting for us."

She gave one last look: the horizon that stretched out before was not just made up of energy towers: joining the flock were all sorts of unique, completely solid buildings - and in some areas, this type of structure was fixed, either permanently or currently, to solid surfaces, the tops of lower buildings or platforms - these were the sampling of the great architectural styles (and often direct copies of specific beautifies ) from all the races of the Republic - Corusant was the planet of world wonders - and although they filled Mab's field of vision utterly, colorful, constant, and extending in all directions, they were neatly segmented from each other, each building clear and distinct, having it's own square to use as a courtyard to buffer and remove itself, to prevent itself from being lost or blended in - the result a visage that was stimulating without being cramped or busy; a city of clean squares; of golden pyramids with tiny suns set in their tips; of zigguarets made from the curving spinal columns of behemoths; trees; globes; giant statues with milling dignities behind their eyes, peaking out; pagodas; obelisks; monasteries; pillared temples; thousand mile long waterfalls, watchtowers poking out underneath the crashing waves; gardens, pylons squirting lava and oil from their tops; lighthouses; walls manned by ceremonial guards, moving ceramic statues, gray clay, other walls mirrors of obsidian or black metal monstrosities; most of these buildings were covered in flowers as well, overgrown by them, but with the sense of invasion or conquest, not incorporation, but a kind, motherly one, nothing vicious or corruptive, a gentle submission and aging, given over, overgrown, become ruins, become natural - a crumbling, organic beauty, still distinct, still whole.

It was night in some areas and day in others, it was winter in some areas - glacial palaces attended by ice servants - and summer in others, fields of dandelions surrounding villages made out of hills, packed dirt, and on and on this went, for all eternity it seemed, upwards and downwards and to the side - she was surrounded by life and culture, enveloped in it, an insignificant speck - and yet weren't these specks the ones who had initiated and controlled all this vastness - didn't that make her as significant as that which caused her feel otherwise - as great as the planet itself, as she was part of it?

_ We made all of this _she thought, and the thought was one of pride, control and responsibility; it was the exact opposite of the emotions she experienced on Taris - there it was something out of their hands, a thing of it's own terrible momentum. It was refreshing, it was healing, it was much needed, to feel this way; a soothing balm. She could look and see a womb, deliberately made, rather then an abyss. She come come in touch with something.

She rejoined Reven - they took a left turn, went down a slope, and came to another wall - a square opened, revealing that this wall too was an exterior one (they must have been near a corner) - a rectangular walkway of opaque purple extended, and attached to the edifice across from them.

As they went through this tunnel, Mab looked up and observed the building the hospital was linking to, which loomed ominously above them. It was a huge spire of stone, coming together at the top like a stake, covering in alcoves filled with gargoyles of all shapes, sizes and forms - she recognized the structure as the seat of the Jedi Sentinels, and briefly pondered why they were coming here out loud.

"It is the current location of the High Jedi Council - it has just arrived here a few days ago; it was meeting another building in a different area of the planet. " said Reven, leaving it there -

- the building was shrouded in a veil of storm cloud, and water, spouting from the very top, the peak , an unending fountain, ran constantly down it, leaving the rock slick and wet/dark; it speed through gutters and arroyos, and bombarded the gargoyles, rushing out of their mouths in great floods. Either the gargoyles had channels leading into their backs; the roofs and projecting parts of the wall were formed to direct the water into them, splashing over the sides to slots and pools on their hunches; or they poked directly off the walls, directly off the gutters, erect - a large number were not connected at all, and simply stood, grotesques on plinths, or crouched, as ornamentation. It was said the gargoyles were carved in the likeness of the most fearsome members of the Jedi, and that a few, according to legend, were merely living beings pretending to be statues, perched in the niches, wearing sopping shadowy cloaks , guarding, watching, biding their time - a story most evocative of the Sentinels themselves.

There were no doors or landing pads into the building - their tunnel connected to a gargoyle mouth that had been gradually widening - the gigantic sculptures that sparsely covered the walls were the only ones that afforded entry, as they were the only ones with large enough orifices - it was a lion, and it's flared out mane surrounded it's wide open maws as they walked towards it . She knew - visualizing - at any second a blast of water could suddenly shoot out, if they were denied entry, knocking them back - a rushing beam that would fill the force field walkway. But they stepped inside safely, and the jaws slid shut.

The interior was dim, and filled with beasts and xenomorphs as well, snarling, glaring, or holding swords in righteous fury. Their footsteps echoed, and her whispered words filled the entire room - she felt it was made this way purposely: not only to intimidate intruders but to guarantee that every movement, every action would be projected to every shadowy corner, every sound heard - because of the amplification, the watchers would be aware of all; just the way they wanted it, she was sure. "It's not just the Council that is here" she said when she observed a master, and three children - a twilekik, a wookie, tiny and furry and a baskeplion - a chicken like creature with a snake head - move by quickly, dwarfed immensely by the hall - " Padawans are being trained as well. Has everything been relocated?"

"Yes." - they began to walk up a marble staircase. The quality of light was that of candle or flame, she had realized, and she looked around before noticing that every couple gargoyles had burning eyes, only seeming to enhance their intensity, or smoking mouths; this was not the only source, for after ascending the wide steps, they turned and passed a towering stain glass window, wine red -

"Has the Jedi Temple been abandoned completely?"

He turned to her "... Something... terrible happened." One more turn., and they were standing in front of the statue of a Jedi even Mab knew - X'llecok F'lu - a giant creature, covered in bulging, bloated hands, extending of his relatively small body, a twisted thing of tumors and curved, phallic heads - these palms were strangely humanoid, but appeared, through the simple medium of rock, to be rotting or deformed, swelled; they grasped and clenched in all directions, except for four - two hands held onto the ceiling, so the Master was dangling, like a hanging ape and two were held together, as in prayer, pointing down, beneath the body. Reven stared, and the two gradually opened, moving aside, leaving a gap to walk through.

"This is the Jedi High Council. Do you understand me? Not the leaders of the Sentinels; The Jedi High Council."

"I get it; I just wish you tell me why they're -"

'Do not lie to them. And control yourself. You cannot afford to make a bad impression."

They entered inside, Reven stepping first: it was a circular chamber, backed by a gigantic glass pane, letting in much light - it was astonishing bright in comparison to what came before. (All the stain glass windows in the building were controlled by AI and changed, when neared by a outlaw in one of the may databases, to the scene of that person's crime, artfully recreated. As the wanted were normally not foolish enough to come to the inner planets, most of the stain glass widows depicted tableau's that were ancient and longstanding, from a time when Corusant's security was not as great as it was currently, or perhaps one of bolder criminals.

Even back then, the spire was given a wide breath, and those who were depicted had either been new to the city, and taken a wrong term, wandering, utterly lost, ending up in terror near the fortress, or had it sail over them - either way each criminal soon after being drawn had been caught by one of the sentinels themselves. Because of this, each painting was well known in Corusant pop culture and society, being a constant, unchanging facet of their life and Mab herself had all of them memorized; the one they had just passed was The Women of Blood, a twlik, leekus fanning, holding a crimson dagger.

The last change had happened fifty years ago, when a madman named Anafayas Temp went on a rampage towards the tower with the sole purpose of being immortalized - he barely made it, and finally collapsed, immediately, when reaching the window - he fell to his knees and died, in front of a red and yellow scene of a shaggy haired man, holding a nuclear bomb over his head, flames behind him - his wish had been achieved.

The fact that the council window was pure and clear meant that no one had ever even gotten close enough to imprint on it - implying the protection around this area was especially fierce. It always seemed to say also that the members inside were spotless, (literally this of course was true - none of them were hunted or had anything on their records, but the statement seemed to be charged with meaning beyond this mere fact) with a divine conscience - the transparent sheet which glowing rays passed through was a symbol of sinlessness and untouchabiltiy, and each Master was haloed by golden light. )

This light was softened, made fuzzy around the edges, comforting, for besides the window it also passed through a sheet of falling water; clear, crystalline, projecting a few inches away, coming from a wide mouthed, big lipped gargoyle above the pane - to the side of the window were two gargoyles as well, and it was said that in times of trouble the spouting gargoyle closed it's mouth, and water merely poured right past the glass, while at the same time the pair blew and howled, creating a visage of storm just as dark as any other part of the building; an omen of doom to bring shadows to the once safe chamber - a chamber no longer removed.

A women with long rusty red hair, losing it's luster, sat in the center chair (all of them high backed and made of rough stone) of the semi circle - Mab realized in awe that it was Nomi Sunrider, one of the most famous Jedi Masters of all time *

*she was a lady of around 150, ( the average age of a citizen of the Republic was 250 {at which euthanasia { or the Long Sleep/Dreaming for extremely wealthy individuals) normally occurred, not any form of biological failing) - the average age of a Jedi about the same (90 percent of Jedi died in combat or deadly situations - the actual potential longevity of the members of the Order unknown and highly variable) - for even though they did not regenerate their bodies through technology or treatments, they aged slower and were the pinnacles of health - this extended life span made the fact of Mab and Reven's early advancement in a galaxy where individuals were normally only considered fully actualized beings at fifty, and worthy of high position or honor at 100, all the more extraordinary.) ; her lively face was mostly wrinkle free, except for two deep, prominent ones that branched off from the corner of each eye, until they were obscured by - until they ran beneath - the duel sheets of hair that fell on each side of her face to her knees, beginning from a part in her bangs.

to her right an elderly black man with a shaven head and a goatee of gray , to her left an empty spot - the rest of the members were aliens of rather obscure species; a boar like creature with a mane mohawk, and rows of baleen in it's mouth, constantly snorting and inhaling in - a large ape being with a rubbery, mask like face, and two slits in it's chests, from which what appeared to be it's lungs, attached to tendrils, cords, were thrown over it's shoulders and lay on it's back - a Quaren, holding a skull, it's tentacles brushing and playing with the top.

"Mab, I present the Jedi High Council. The Renegade Council."

They stared at her curiously, hungrily - she felt many minds probing against her own, lightly; she shifted uncomfortably.

"Mab Argonbirth. " said the dark skinned Master. "My name is Jolee Bindo."

"Pleased to meet you."

He hooted "Say that to me when we bump into each other somewhere else. No one could be pleased to meet me in this stuffy place!" and then lowered his head forward, and rubbed/stroked it with one hand, chuckling, a common habit of his, as Mab would come to realize. He had a homespun, down to earth manner that put her at ease.

"Mab, we called you here" Nomi said "as we have heard that you have had visions... of a prophetic quality..." - A tiny squirrel/monkey shaped xenomorph, with dexterous, long fingers, which tittered obnoxiously at everything, every word said, burst out into even more vigorous giggles at this, exploding into it's cupped hands - Reven shot it a glare, and it rocked itself back, kicking it's legs - " They have been described to us already by Reven, but to hear them in your words would be most..productive."

"Well... the first couple - they started a few weeks after I got assigned to the Ender Spire - I don't really know when, as my memory was hazy, as you are probably aware -"

"Indeed we are."

"Anyways... They involved Reven fighting Bastilla"

"All of them?"

"Yes, either the lead up or the fight itself - they all ended after she falls to the ground...dead..."

Jolee Bindo leaned forward in interest. "Describe them to us" now very serious.

"Well, like I said, they're dueling and then -"

"No. Describe them to us... _in perfect detail._"

Over the next hour she painted, as vividly as she could, her dreams, often coming back, suddenly remembering things she missed out, or repeating herself - they wanted every expression, every move, every phrase. Sometimes when she felt something was not important, or held a scene, piece, or trifling report of color or sound back, a member of the council would ask her pointedly to tell everything - occasionally even referring the very thing she was concealing itself. When she repeated a segment of dialogue or made guesses, conjectures, or descriptions concerning Reven or his behavior, she would glance his way hesitantly; he stared ahead blankly, very rarely meeting her gaze; when this did happen he would nod encouragingly; regardless it felt incredibly painful and embarrassing to say some of things she did with him in the room, especially when he was ignoring her. - it was a tense situation. She did not feel his presence near her mind - he had retreated from her, it seemed; to not intefere she thought - or at least this was the charitable interpretation.

This was the most she had ever thought on the dreams - and verbalizing them felt like performing craftmenship or art, a creative rewarding task that took all the concentration.

"You are no ordinary oracle." said Master Bindo, hand sliding over shining brownness, barely generating a scratching noise.

"You have an extraordinary gift" intoned a beast of metal and wood, a huge bark triangle for a nose.

"And what of your encounter with the Exile?" asked Nomi.

She swallowed, her arms pits suddenly tingling with sweat. She had ignored the dreams, during her time on The Spire, because she had ignored everything, drifting through life- she had neither the clarity or the focus. But now, she was deliberately pushing the thoughts away, deliberately resisting processing or understanding- they rested in her mind like a jumble of blocks or rusty scrap metal - she refused to assemble them.

"There.." she said, talking slowly "We were fleeing, and I was pinned against the wall, transforming. As I did, I...somehow made contract with The Exile's fleet. Not the people in it really, but the fleet as a whole - I understood it holistically. I realized what powered it. And as what powered it was... The Exile... I began to look into her."

"Once again... we have to ask you -" began Bindo apologetically.

"That wasn't enough, was it?"

"Words are never enough." said the women softly.

"Talk without thought. Talk without stop. And we shall see what shines through." the ape said. Reven twitched at this, the lock of hair falling over his eye -

Once again she began, this time laboriously, thrusting her hands into the air, and then pulling them back, fumbling with metaphors, frequently correcting her self - "oh no, that's not right "- very delicately, and only when it was exactly perfect, a member would offer a simile or allusion that was spot on, that would help her express herself smoothly. Eventually, they segued into discussing the second set of visions itself - which had occurred after they had failed to send a message to the Exile, which would have prevented her from attacking - which would have distracted her, and saved the planet.

How Reven had described it would necessitate that the events that had occurred went like this: she had sensed the wave of death, and went to the source, making brief contact with it, receiving sensations and images - but as Mab went on, it seemed more like the touch with the Exile had instead awoken something dormant _in_ her; the vision, a fountain, a jet of water exploding from some subterranean pocket. The Jedi council helped her give birth to this idea, and yet it was frustrating work - she felt as if it was all beyond her comprehension, as if she was missing something by so many degrees.

"It seems to me that" ventured Bindo, after they they had mostly finished, Mab feeling unsatisfied - unlike the first round of questioning which as they went on simply kept generating more and more; in contrast this ended in a tangled, headache inducing mess which Mab surrendered to, giving up - " Mab is not merely having visions of The Exile, but of Bastilla as well, both of which are not caused by any contact between Mab and The Exile, or Mab and...well as you described it, Mab, in an unshielded state and the galaxy itself, for a brief period of time."

Reven raised an eyebrow immediately while hearing this "And how would you explain it? " he said, almost as a challenge, or an affront - a hint of harshness in his voice - it seemed it was not how he would have phrased it, and he was acting in the way of a men who's idea is suddenly shot down, doubtful, critical of it's replacement.

"Well, she's a natural seer. A Conduit's whose visions may be sparked by encounters and psychic turbulence yes, but who area of skill lies in divination not making connections - of course, I am not denying that she has a real link with you.

"Ah... I see."

"Now moving on to the question of the force bond between Mab and Reven - both must come in every day, some days individually, some days together. After a few weeks of research, I believe we will be able to sever it safety. I myself am quite an expert at such things." said Nomi.

"I know this is the course of action I had acquiesced to earlier... but now that we have decided what Mab is seeing is a result of how own powers, not any connection - meaning it is likely that her visions will expand and increase on their own - I believe using her abilities to our advantage would be quite valuable - we can all agree to this can't we?"

"Yes"

"There is no reason not to employ it, to it's utmost potential."

"...One could argue that..." There was tension - Reven seemed to be deviating from a script.

"And thus I recommend we keep our force bond intact indefinitely - through it I may be able to interpret or even stimulate her visions."

Mab wanted to say something jaunty along the lines of "you're not going to stimulate anything of mine" but found the present company might not appreciate - except perhaps the old man. However she thought it quite forcefully, and to her surprise - and delight - Revan smiled lightly. Considered intellectually she would be repulsed by such an idea, such an lack of privacy, but intuitively it felt right.

"Truly, what is the harm?"

"Mab could be used as a gateway into your own mind. We're been over this."

"We are safe within Corusuant - and this suggestion is only for the time being. If that is the only reason, is it a silly one. Is there another reason? " He seemed to be daring them "or is it silly?"

Both Nomi and Jolee looked like they wanted to say something - at the edge of their seats - Jolee conceded first.

"Is that it, aye?" Jolee chucked, as Nomi's -who had very hesitantly said the word yes" - lips thinned to a line. " If you can't develop a power, you'll just find someone who has it, and attach yourself to them? Your own little repertoire of force users" rubbing his inclined head - his eyes however, pointed upwards, heavily lidded, waiting for a response; he seemed, despite his manner, a little wary; peeking around the joke, with a narrowed gaze

Reven also appeared uncomfortable around the man, but replied "Yes, and I'm going to connect with you next, old man - I need "crotchety wisdom" in my tool belt." However, the retort seemed a little too quick and automatic; too smooth.

"Why didn't you bring this up earlier?" asked Nomi sharply.

"I wasn't convinced"

An insectoird Jedi appeared to be incredulous, betrayed, it's face moving in multiple directions.

"More like you weren't sure you could convince us" said Jolee haltingly, as if he getting dragged along with something dubious - teeth pulled.

"And what will this lead to?" asked a pale thing with locks of white, unblinking.

"It will lead to whatever it leads to" said Reven.

"No" replied Jolee, almost so automatically to the point of blurting it out, shaking his head

Reven, who had before clutched impatiently, right side of his face twitching, still projecting a light, dismissive air, now became very still.

"We may come to regret it." said Nomi, significantly

"There are other things we may regret" Reven forced out from clenched teeth.

There was a long, thick pause - and then, Nomi: "Jolee, Vima - when she returns - and I will discuss it further. As for now, you have the Council's permission. It may be revoked later."

"To?"

"To, through the use of your bond, focus and expand upon Mab's visions." said Nomi, her face slightly warped, as if she was saying something distasteful.

As they walked out, Jolee began to say something "Aren't you -"

Reven raised a hand, cutting him off: "I will do as I must."

"Yes" said Nomi, staring his way pensively. "Yes you will." now sympathetic. Before they had completely left the room, a council member called out one last time. Nomi: "Mab, I shall come visit you later? If you'll have me."

Mab opened her mouth a few times, and then accepted merely nodding as the best form of communication she could manage.

When they left, and where once again continuing the way they came, Mab prefaced her inevitable explosion into questions with an arch: "Well what was that all about?"

"hmmm?"

"I just felt there was a lot going on I missed."

"There's always a lot going on at a Jedi council meeting that will go over one's head...yours especially..." He let the smooth jab fade away and then glanced at her."That was merely the most motley group of heretics, blasphemers, and apostates you will ever meet in this galaxy." He said this perhaps to discredit them or loosen their hold over Mab, who was in awe of them - a casual act of defiance, of superiority.

"Aren't you against that sort of thing? Aren't you a hardliner, a firm believer? Why do you -"

" You simplify my position. I fear perhaps in my efforts to distance myself from my previous leaning of being undiscriminating towards all forms of knowledge, including Sith magic, I have given the impression, especially in my dealing with Serik, of being on the opposite extreme. I merely... such ideologies can be useful... _in the right hands._ Especially during a time like this. The Exile is a threat we have never faced before. We need to be lead by people with...revolutionary views.

"A council of exiles...to fight an exile."

"My thoughts exactly. I am the one who assembled them in fact."

"Even Nomi Sunstrider? I though she was head of the order, previously. You brought her in as well?"

"She was the head of order, for ten years after the Concave at Exis station at the end of Exar Kun War. Many young, unorthodox masters assumed high status - as the old guard had been dealt a crippling blow."

"The Massacre of the Masters." ( stabbed pillows, and seared blankets - eyes glazed when backs turned and sudden pushes off cliffs - poisoning of foods and the poisoning of minds: sent mercenaries and upset natives.)

"The uprising of the padawans, yes. However, after while, the pendulum swung back, and a Jedi Master known as Atris became the figure head for a conservative movement that declared the horrors of the conflict to be caused by the leniency of the order, if anything - 'A melodramatic farce played across the galaxy, with millions of lives at stake' She viewed the war not as any grand movement, but a egoistical quarrel between a few key players: a story. Thus, the way to prevent such things was to prevent the development of such relationship and personalities."

"Do you hold that to be true?":

"Yes.. it is undoubtedly true. Galactic war is an impossibility in our Republic, by it's very nature - a system has been created, bolstered by the supernatural diplomacy of the Jedi that makes it so... All conflicts on a major scale are thus caused by some interference with this system - by the Jedi them self It is not propaganda when the radicals and planetary governments declare all wars are caused by force users. It could be no other way.

Why do you think we of the Order are trained in saber combat? No other individual or being could wield a lightsaber but one of our own. We give peace, and price is every 100 years or so we spawn a horror. Sometimes it is an incomprehensible one. Exar Kun an example."

"Was Nomi Sunrider forcibly removed? Are you kidding me; the women who almost single handily won the war?"

"She was not exiled - only... "persuaded" to leave the council. Those who the new laws applied to retroactively suffered a reduction in status - they were removed from public view. However, from that point onward, any one who had a child or a romantic relation - among other crimes -_would _be an outcast.

...

My original master... could be said to have been the first real test case. A women by the name of Arran Kae... an immensely gifted Jedi... she was forced to leave and joined Mandlorien Wars."

"You must hate Atris for that?"

"You imply that I do not agree with her."

"Well, don't you?"

" Love... and lust is nothing more then a chemical reaction in the brain. Droids and beings made up of large percent of cybernetics cannot feel the force - that is the only reason the drawbacks of the body are tolerated."

"Nothing more then a chemical reaction, huh? Well I think Nomi would beg to disagree, and she is the Jedi -"

"She is the most famous Jedi precisely because of her puerile love affair. It's makes her_ relatable" _ he said contemptuously.

_ "D_on't you want to be as well?"

"Why should I desire that?"

"Well, you have to admire them partially! I mean you did put them together! I don't believe you - I think they are the highest expression of what you want to be!"

He looked at her - "I assembled this group for reasons already sufficiently explained. But yes... in the nine months after the end of the Manlodrien war, as I searched for them... I... I had been planning to leave the order - I can admit that to myself now; the war was only going to the beginning of my defiance - and when I suddenly decided to stay, I felt lost, adrift. I did not now what to do anymore. I was stuck with it, out of nowhere Perhaps... yes, as I brought them together I was looking for a council that would offer me a way out - a council made up of broad enough philosophies that one could be found that would offer me freedom."

"Is this still what you're looking for?"

"No... no. The only true freedom is discipline. Any other life style you are at the mercy of random emotions and feelings. All I have seen of the mind - (he switched track quickly) the Jedi have a monopoly on philosophy - who would the public rather trust, an average thinker, or someone in touch with something beyond them, with powers beyond them self? And since the Jedi have popularized - for pragmatic reasons and because it matches their conception of the Light Side - the amazingly optimistic idea that all living beings number one driving force is to improve themselves, to do good, and be good, society accepts it at large, and other other psychologists and philosophers - Gruind Meerer, Food Bychagt, Tegrfay Neeitke - scholars of older times, cultural dissidents, and academics in a planet's history before they meet the Republic -are mostly ignored, brushed aside. For how could they know more than The Order?

But the moment a Jedi delves into a mind, they realize how great of a lie this is - who great of a fantasy is being perpetuated. Living beings are crude, and motivated only be sex, greed, and urge to dominate."

"What - what - why do you fight for them then! Why do you do anything!"

Reven opened his mouth, startled, and then closed it.

"Sorry - maybe that was out of line -"

"No... it is... the question no one asks."

"Do you know it?" her voice high pitched, for she asked it pleadingly.

"It is the question no one asks...because they are afraid to, or because the Jedi Order forces the answer upon them... like manacles. Shoves it into their mind." He sounded incredibly bitter.

* * *

"They told me they would call me back for another debriefing sometime - which is why I'm still wearing this uniform - but all they really did at the first one was ask a couple perfunctory questions anyways: I don't think I will be seeing them again - you're the one everyone is interested in."

Mab looked at Carrth blandly, leaning away, raising her eyebrows slightly, weakly - melancholy, torment: the black, moist smears under her eyes were nightmares made flesh, they sucked the energy from the windows above, making them dull.

"Not that I envy you."

The conversation had reached a painful lull - Mab - still not quite out of the darkness - struggled to say something, her lips shifting and mushing together, tongue hesitantly forming words.

Carth moved in - "I think you'll be fine though." and pulled her into a hug with one arm, and then rested his hand on her face - Carth had become more physically affectionate as time went on, a rough, ungentle sort of contact, full of squishing and jostling and contorting- Mab, her face tilted by the pressure of his palm, smiled slightly - she always enjoyed being touched, never recoiling - catlike in her appreciation. "I think so too."

"What you need is a good cry." said Carth.

"It's not an emotional thing... It's... I experienced, I came into encounter with something terrible. I'm hurt by it... I feel -"

"Broken" Mission said

"Yes" said Mab, understanding darting from one to the other - a silver arrow. "Something being taken from me. There's a gap. An awful -

"Vgayu Tskous would say: what if the experience didn't take anything from you - it just showed you what's missing. What's been missing. In all of us. Then have you really lost something - no. In fact, you've gained something: knowledge. Not lost, gained - something most people don't have."

"This knowledge of the emptiness of the universe... how can it be an addition, when it makes me... Can it really be useful?"

"Only if you overcome it. Otherwise no."

"Carth... you don't understand. You can't. This... what I touched, it tangible. It's real... its' a literal void. Can such a thing really be conquered?"

"It must."

She got up, turning away, beginning to stare out of the window. "Manifest, I hope so." She paused for a second - "My college was a couple blocks away from here, the building shaped like a giant shell, bordered by sprays of water - you've probably seen holos of it. All the best teachers there..."

(Most professors on Corusant were Jedi, courses a mixture of Spectacle Learning, a stream of constant stimulation and information, and intimate lectures. In fact most positions that involved interaction with sapient lifeforms were filled by force users - this was their purpose, in a way: Corusant was called the City of Jedi for a reason, and all those seeking the best service came to this mecca of masters of the mind It was no coincidence that the Sentate was seated on Corusant, and that they met in person - which, when looked at logistically, was a huge inconvenient - they were mediated by the greatest diplomats of all.)

"I recall joining a student protest at the Jedi temple... the one that is abandoned now for some reason - they had just finished construction, and a few of us had hijacked one of the structure droids; they were swinging it's arms and pinchers over and near the building, just flailing about. -"

"The structure droids weren't actually the Jedi's. The Republic was pressuring them to finish up - to hurry up already, and had just left a few close by - it was very ostentatious and petty; interfering, trying to be helpful. Almost all Jedi temples are made of stone or natural material, instead of energy - for the same reason that they don't use droids. It is all done by hand."

Mission looked shocked.

"I've seen the construction of a temple on my home planet - it takes years - almost all their buildings are blocks sturdily fit together - the Jedi will levitate the blocks over their heads, walk with them like women balancing baskets on the way to the market (reference to primitive human history; a time now presented through context-less cliches and images, all mashed together, without differentiation ) and gradually fit it all into one like a puzzle. The structure here was begun at the very end of the Exar Kun conflict - so it took over twenty years."

"So we learned. The Republic - specifically Corusant's Security Force - arrested us later for misusing their property. Anyways, the main mob was on the stairs, a couple miles up - we were projecting holograms and illusionscapes, while at the same time hacking in The Sphere, filling the area around with pop ups, shockvids, and Viral Manifestos.

I recall a few of us deciding to go up higher - we began sprinting - you have to run, there are so many stairs, and you need to leap or flying jump to get from one step to the other: miles worth. We lead the charge, but as we went - the air became thinner and thinner, and exhaustion neared."

"The only ones who can climb the stairs are Jedi. Fully. Or so the jokes goes - that's how they tell if you're one of them."

"Yeah. The thinness of air, and the extreme distance distered everyone - I was the last. I had gotten the furthest. I collapsed on a step... and remember a young Jedi helping me up, and carrying me back down."

"Later that day, I accessed the sphere, and it was... _alive. _Buzzing. Videos of the protect everyone - the protest as a symbol or focal point for the movement... kind of like it was... surrounded or encased by all the doctrines and postings, the jewel in the center.

"Modern Activism 101." said Carth, smiling.

"Yes. Our Seized Area received over a trillion hits per minute -"

"Victory" said Carth, continuing in his jovial, witty manner.

"And yet... now... as I look back. It seems so long ago. Like I was a different person. I feel... like I couldn't do something like that again. Couldn't give my energy. I've lost my sense of urgency, you get what I mean?"

"Of things being important?"

"Yes. How could they be... when it can all be wiped out, just like... this."

"You'll gain it back."

"Maybe" said Mission, speaking up softly "you just just have to start doing things again. Like you used to.."

"Like - what do you have in mind."

"T3 show them" Mission had been wanting to bring this up for some time obviously - sitting on it in a way that seemed more timid and childlike then thoughtful - she had been preparing.

T3 roll over, and conjured a screen - a number of bars, filled with red horizontal lines, moving left and right quickly, growing and shrinking - one bar stayed constantly near the far end, further filled than all the others. Mab touched that bar, and the screen filled with information. It shined off her face.

"I don't have a VR jack" she said finally - she skipped the question if she was going to do this or not, going right to the how - she didn't even have to think about it, she assumed it - she was resolute. This skipping or assuming, or lack of verbalized deliberation, was a sign of admirable bravery, strength and dedication to Carth and Mission.

"That's okay." said Mission quickly - the girl had wanted Mab to help - every little bit needed - as well as to experience it with her. "We can activate the walls and ceiling. It will be kind of messy -"

"Yeah, I'll think I'll duck out; give you guys more space to move and dance, if you really want to."

Mab nodded, distracted. "This is good. How long has the The Event Storm been going on?"

"Since it happened."

"T3 fill the room"

Poems, and songs, and people crying, and ranting and chanting exploded out, shards of art and mind flying pasts like pieces of glass radiating from an bursting window, rays expanding, infolded them, covering them - boxes floated, squares scrolled, and they poked and entered and talked and added, Mission beginning to sob freely - spirals wrapped around them, and faces spoke, and people, ghosts summoned, walked and gave information: a mass orgy of conversation. They observed and contributed and where lost in a maze, the beginning disappearing, the end nowhere in sight - a labyrinth mourning and remembering Taris: a universe at a vigil.

* * *

Many hours later, Mab lay thrown across a chair, Mission on her chest, the lights still flickering. T3 noticed the collapse was completed - it had happen gradually, yawns and jerks awake and slumped heads - and folded the swathes of data, folded them down and over them, like blankets falling to comfort, floating down to give warmth; folded and lowered them in a way that was gentle and considerate, parental and protecting.

* * *

Mab lay on her bed - area underneath her propped up elbow firm, padding near stomach soft; in the beginning the bed had rippled dramatically - an ocean of cushion, as if she was buoyed on the waves - whenever she moved, but this wore thin on her quickly, and after a few times of rolling around in frustration and discomfort on top of the mattress, a not fully conscious, irritated hitting and jabbing of her body, full of huffs and catapulted limbs, it adjusted, and now_ gradually _altered it self.

She stared at the space in front of her; she wore contacts in her eyes and plastic pieces on the back of her ears, both connected wirelessly to the computer around her wrist (this wrist computer was a new one, obtained from the electronics center of the floor - she had left her own Wrist PC on the Endar Spire next to her bunk as she ran out; the one destroyed on the ship was of course much simpler, due to Military regulations - it was a closed system that only played pre-encoded Locked Source data cubes and chips, and only projected them as holograms - to maintain the integrity of the soldiers mind's)

She was pursuing a book length report ( a square in front of her wherever she turned her head - her blinks switched pages) on the planet Guvietevs social problems, which originated from land conflicts caused by the fact that natives were extremely territory - being moving tree like creatures that considered wherever their roots spread to be their claim, and theirs alone.

Despite the fact that she recalled a wide breadth of knowledge and seemed to remember enjoying reading on such topics, she found herself to be inattentive, impatient, and disinterested - she kept a few tabs open and the frequently of her flipping back and forth increased, until eventually she found herself almost fully invested in a long collection of essay on The Force and it's manifestation in fighting styles - eventually the number of tabs had once again diminished to one, with this collection of essays being the one still open - which was quite strange, as it went against her memories of what she enjoyed completely. She guessed her interest in force techniques was justified; and perhaps anything related to journalism or sociology just seemed irrelevant now, given the recent turn her life had taken.

She continued to absorb information, now very focused and enjoying it, until Revan poked his head (and nothing else, not fully stepping through) into the doorway and called her name, - The AI of the crescents, which had been blocking out all sound, were keyed to recognize people talking to her, and switched noise back on completely; she moved into an upright position, sweeping the wrist computer over her face like someone rubbing sleep out of their eyes. The contacts - steel gray curves - were sucked out of her sockets, and into two holders - two dips in a lowered square with several slots and specifically shaped depressions. She then jostled the curves off the back of her ears, with one clumsy thrust of both hands, and placed them next to the contacts, into their spot; the wrist computer twisted, buzzing slightly, hiding this area from view.

"Revan"

Reven was standing the corner, playing with a decoration, body slightly turned away from her, staring at it ostentatiously - looking kind of awkward - investigating as an excuse for something to do. "Mab. How are you?

"Better."

"I'm glad to hear it" He said this, staring directly at her - his eyes had a look she knew well, a sort of lost bemusement - a melancholy that did not allow him to be fully present or focused in personal situations (in contrast to matters of logistics, in which this look, replaced by furrowed brows, faded - although never quite disappeared, and often popped up or slide in when someone asked him a difficult question - a never quite hidden dismay, dawning constantly)

"What about you?"

"Once again, that is not important."

"That's not fair Reven."

"You're right. I'm..."

"You're denying my right to give... to care."

"Yes. fine. Care. Ask. That doesn't mean I have to answer. There, your need to care will be satisfied." He smiled slightly.

She snorted - a women of hurts and puffs, and hair floating about as a result of these - occasionally the hair would drift into an eye and the goofiness would continue.

He stared and after a pause "I am also getting better."

"I am also glad."

There was a pause - Revan had seemed thankful for the delay or distraction, and dreading whatever he had to say. "I came here today to try to access some of your visions. Have...have you been having more dreams?"

"No."

"Do... do you mind?" He moved his hands up - "I am going to attempt -"

"Go ahead...

...Seriously. Just: Sure you'll like what you find in my head? Might hurt your feelings"

"I am already aware of your opinions of me" he said dryly - but once again seeming grateful, put at ease.

He hesitated, and then placed his rough fingertips against her brow.

"Close your eyes please. We'll gradually stand up together. If I do this correctly, you'll feel...as if what you visualizing is being guided by a force other then your own imagination. This will be me. Do not...be afraid..."

She nodded, a little nervous, and squeezed her eyes shut, causing an explosion of creases and wrinkles - once again, over exaggeration. She had a sense of Reven smiling at this, and then began to wait, listening faintly to her breathing, sensing the presence of Reven's digits more clearly.

After a while, she began to visualize the dream, Reven battling Bastilla - angles and viewpoints presented themselves that had not been seen before - it began to shift back and forth, with the second set of visions, both blending together- all of them except the very end of the second set, which was avoided curiously, as if it was unholy ground.

They faded and brightened and segued. She began to pick up on detail she hadn't noticed before in one of them, the one with the transport leaving, and soon, gradually, the focus seemed to be all together on this one - soon enough the viewpoint had shifted, and now it was from an omnipresent perspective, changing slightly, constantly; Bastilla's face once again showed itself, blurry, ill defined in comparison to everyone else, a slight girl with a determined expression - between this vision of the transport and the original dream smaller hints and phantasms suggested themselves.

Wisps of something new began to be defined - Mab felt them become stronger through the force of Reven's collective will: (she was beginning to feel uncomfortable; molested} Bastilla walking along with a much younger Reven through a blizzard, skinny and lanky, {the feeling was now beyond words, unexplainable, but fear and rage} wearing a thick red scarf, a cloaked man falling over, knocked out of a chair, Revan, the Exile, and Bastilla talking, Bastilla - "NO!"

`The visions abruptly faded, and through them Mab saw Revan thrown against a wall, high up, into the corner of it. He collapsed to the ground.

"Are you okay?" What happened?" She walked towards him, confused, blinking away the thoughts.

He got up quickly, "You lashed out at me."

"I'm sorr-"

"No! No. It's not your fault. It was reflexive...created within you. The Sith who found you and maneuvered you into the Ender Spire must have violently mind scanned you. "

For a second he looked near the verge of tears - (it mush have been imagined, of course)

"Presumably this is what happened. You developed a sort of phobia An aversion." He appeared incredibly guilty, for some absurd reason, for the entire race of force users, muttering, his head hanging.

"I couldn't quite explain it. I felt violated."

"That's the perfect word." he said, staring blankly at her. She felt, through the bond, blackness consume him utterly once again, possibly worse then when she felt encountered after waking in Corusuant.

He licked his lips. "Besides... I pushed you too hard. Perhaps... i may be able to gently lead you in the right direction, but this...was a foolish act. I truly am sorry. The force will provide visions when ready... I may have to help you have them, but it will be through events in the external word, not by attacking the mechanism of the visions itself."

"I... it's was just so weird Revan. I don't remember something like that happening to me, but it felt so familiar. "

"Yes, the mark of a good...scanning is that it's forgotten."

In contrast to Reven she was slowly becoming exhilarated and interested; moving forward, not backwards. "What was - why did I begin to see near the end, the second set of visions in third person? And for that matter, why does the dream of Bastilla and you fighting always present itself in third person? I don't remember it otherwise."

"Perhaps the age of the dream is what decides the perspective,. Or the clarity? I suspect it will always be a mystery."

"If you can't enter my mind to the extent that you were trying to do - if you can't directly interact with it on that level = not that you can't on other levels; I know you do so indirectly, don't try to lie to me, maybe I should be taught to meta-program, to use the Force on myself - it seems -"

"That - that course of action is debatable."

"Well at least teach me tricks so I can focus my energy, so I can do something with it. Teach me!

"Tricks? If you were truly interested in control, you would have asked to learn mediation. I think you just want to be -"

"Magical?"

"Yes" he said, corner of his mouth twitching "magical"

"Well is there anything wrong with that? Can't I have some fun with it?"

"Fun? The Force is about survival and power."

"But the way you use the Force, the way you express it defines who you are...make you who who you are; if you just use it for survival purposes, you'll become focused only about survival at the root -"

"Isn't that how people are anyways? Isn't it? And isn't that what the Force is: nothing more then the collective will to survive of every cell, every organic piece of material, every creature, expressed on a grand scale - the universe so filled with life that it permeates the very air around, as an energy to be drawn on."

"But living existence only concerned about survival - it doesn't make life bearable!"

"Life doesn't need to bearable. The Force itself sustains the Jedi. There is no rational reason to prefer life over non life, pleasure over pain, no meaning - it is the Force that drives us, like an engine in our mind - pushing us forward relentlessly, inexorably, despite the absurdity of existence, despite the baselessness for it. Life is an argument without an warrant; a debate without an solid, undeniable starting point. And yet it continues on, it's own justification."

"How can that lead to happiness? To satisfaction?"

"Weren't you listening!" This was the only time that Reven lost a bit of his composure during the conversation - the left part of his lip rose slightly, baring his teeth. "Happiness is irrelevant. We will be dragged along anyways, regardless of how we feel!" He turned away, - the dying sunlight hitting the profile of his face - and picked up the decoration again - a curved sphere, a hole in the top, the entire orb filled with water.

There was a pause -" When I was younger I used to run along the roofs of Corusant, hopping over obstacles and vehicles, clambering and dropping, never stopping; making great leaps, hands wheeling." A large drop of water began to slowly float out of the jar.

Reven's story reminded Mab immediately of his wolfish grin of the train on Taris, the only time she had seen him make such an expression.

"But my favorite "trick" was to levitate water, in rays of light" quietly - the water has been shaped into a prism, and was gradually revolving, until it hit a certain, perfect point - rainbows and beams of color projected off of it in multiple directions, and as it continued spinning these moved. A flash played across Mab's face and she moved closer, resting an hand on Reven's arm.

"Maybe I'll come to the same conclusion you did eventually, but in the beginning don't I deserve to experiment? To play, like everyone else? To have some freedom, from ideologies? Or am I just a puppet?"

The water floated in front of Reven's face, and spread into a sheet, across both of his eyes; Mab looked at the blotches of purple and black through it.

"...

I will teach you what I can."

* * *

Mab sat by a window, alone, Carth and Mission exploring, gazing out of it as she moved food to her mouth from a tray, occasionally missing. (on the tray there was a Meal, real solid objects, arranged, separated; not the goop, pills, injections and supplements she was used to.) She stared past the roof tops - normally green, lush and thick, the tops covered in a rich, impretable cap of green that on average extended for a few stories down - past the heat towers, colorful spikes that looked like blown glass of all colors, as long as they were vibrant, at the Harvest Moons, whose orbit was set artificially close and thus a constant presence in the sky. Their speed also made them a catching sight - all three took only a day to complete their courses, and sometimes in their wake flowers fluttered; they left trails of sweet smelling petals descending from space behind them - occasionally the flowers came from buildings they disturbed when they neared too close.

The moon she was looking at was a enormous golden orb, with a resemblance to a rotund germ cell under a microscope. It was covered in fields of BSC - biological solar converters - or engineered grain. One of the other moons was identical, although slightly larger, while the last was owned by the Jedi Agricultural Corp. This one was where most of the flowers came from, and where her food - fruits and vegetables, things of real texture and flavor - originated as well.

Across the sphere of grain, a dark line moved - everywhere it passed turned gray, empty, dull - ahead of it were rich ripples, moving tidally - the waves could be seen easily from Corusant. This line was a wave of a different kind - the shadow of moon as it was called. The Terminator. Locusts buzzed through the stalks, consuming everything , never stopping, never pausing. In their wake was brief desolation, until the grain sprouted up once again, stretching towards the stars hungrily. When they reached the end of the planet, their starting point, they flew in a swarm through the brief abyss, insects of the gap, and deposited themselves into great factories, where they were ground up into gruel. New locusts, grown in pods, were then released to start the cycle over again - the line between machines and organism was utterly blurred.

Carth and Mission walked in, flushed with excitement, Mission starry eyed - Mab was in an introverted mood - which is why she had not come with - and as Carth began energetically to talk she listened, a little reserved. Carth however only got a few sentences out before Nomi Sunrider walked in, (wearing a loose, simple dress, revealing the tops of her breasts, those of a mature women { the sides to were bare, but they were covered by the two long strips of hair, of her bangs; only a flash of white remained unobscured} through a door suddenly opening in the wall - Carth immediately stopped and began to back away. "I hope I am not interrupting anything."

"Of course not" said Carth, a little flustered, bowing forward, and continuing to retreat - Mission stared unabashedly, mouth open - she was not one of great etiquette or pose.

"May I sit down, dear" asked Nomi to Mab; Mab nodded, at a slight loss for words. Nomi waved and a chair, blue, floated out of the ground. As she came closer Mab noticed she smelled of fresh skin - the unadulterated scent of flesh out of a shower, soft and clean.

"Mr. Onasi - would you care to join us."

"I'll... I think you two have matters to discuss - matters that don't concern me."

"Oh but Mr. Onasi they concern you to the utmost. They are matters that concern everyone on this planet - for a matter that concerns one person concerns us all; and a matter that concerns the human soul has implications for all souls."

"I think I'll keep my circle of concern a little less broad, miss."

"I understand completely." She said with a fond, inviting smile. Her manner was gently playful, with a kind of authority and bearing that didn't make it seem silly, false, or ironic in any way. There was a hint of pompousness to it, perhaps because of the stable seriousness or sophistication in which she spoke, but it was balanced out perfectly by utter elegance.

Nomi turned and focused completely on Mab. She motioned her hand, holding it up and twirling it, and a floating circle of energy flew towards her a few seconds later, bearing a cup (itself not shaped out of energy; the technology wasn't advanced enough to create small or intricate objects) filled with steaming liquid. She grabbed it, and set it down in front of her, stirring.

"I see you are eating a meal prepared by the kitchens of this hospital. Are you aware it is from the agricultural corps, tended by Jedi hands?"

Apparently Nomi was not finished preparing to sit down - she took a sip from the brown, with a white surface, liquid, and then pulled out of her pocket a strip of paper. She held it out of the window, near a group of flowers and herbs - the vines began to move, and the herbs and flowers were crushed into the paper, mashed - eventually, due to the contortions of the plantlife, the strip of paper was rolled into a cylinder, filled. Nomi reached back out and pulled it by it's tip from the biomass.

"Yes. I wonder why; I would have been fine with gruel."

Nomi paused, crossed one leg over the other, and then leaned back, holding the cigarette to her lips. The tip suddenly lit on fire, and she took a drag, blowing out a cloud of perfumed smoke. She then held the cigarette in one hand, in between two fingers, pointing into the air, leaking wisps.

"This place is a house of healing. You are eating food from Canaan - a true paradise - for the same reason you were kept in a solid room, one free from movements and alterations, one completely stable. It was not your body that was harmed."

Mab reasoned this over; it made sense. If a force user could sense minute changes in his or her environment, the only place that would be truly relaxing would be unchanging, removed - the complete calmness of the room was meant to help her. And the fruit - she stared down at a red ball, covert in bulges - it was vibrant, healthy. "Canaan is a place covered in plantlife as large as men. Everything is hand picked. They pour love into them... Surround it with love. All of this is just to help my mind rest. I understood that there was nothing physically wrong with me... I guess I _really_ didn't make the connection fully until now. " she admitted. "All of this is for me to recover from the Exile. Blows to the mind... are just as terrible."

"They sing to the agriculture." began Nomi.

"Athame Cloak"

"You are familiar with him?"

"Yes... Carth quoted him to me a couple weeks ago."

Nomi smiled to herself. "Mr. Onasi reminds me a lot of myself. A caring individual. He's a lover isn't he? A dedicated, loyal lover. Of course everyone reminds me of myself in some way - the curse of empathy I guess."

She inhaled once more . Her actions were more graceful then the average Jedi - even those who moved perfectly, exactly - she unwound luxuriously - perhaps because there were more human - warm, loose, natural.

"Mrs. Argonbirth. I sensed you were a little lost at the council meeting; or perhaps just lost in general. I thought it right to the return the favor - do you have anything to ask of me?"

"I... I guess I'm just interested in the War. Bastilla, really." She said it before realizing consciously that this was true.

"I'm not surprised. Bastilla was fascinating figure. And quite mystery to you, I can imagine.."

Nomi paused to gather her thoughts. "I knew Bastilla when she was a younger girl -

"How did you - sorry to interrupt - how did you know her? Weren't you out of the order by that point."

"The Order is my home - and cannot be left unless you make an inexorable, unmendable break, a break in yourself. The only true form of exile. People's declarations have no weight. I kept associates; I kept in contact. I visited. I even met the girl a few times - once, expressly on purpose. She was found to possess the gift of battle mediation - one I also possess."

"Battle mediation?"

"Battle mediation. It allows one to coordinate and understand large fleets and groups of people - the connections of power and influence between them. It allows one to strengthen these connections. - synchronize the parts into a greater whole. It is an gift that can be used to dark ends.. but a gift that almost always originates from study of the Light Side of the Force. Only the light side of the force is truly concerned with groups of people - for the very definition of the dark - selfish, individualistic power - is one against the herd."

Mab felt something important about this, in the corner of her mind - a vague tickling - "What was Bastilla like?"

Nomi stared, - "Bastila. She was taken at a late age - seven I believe - which may have explained some of her...difficulties... Frivolous, a bit prissy - "Nomi chuckled. "She wore a pink bow in her hair for the first year of living in the Order, refusing to take it out - a master would order her to do so, and she would remove it, only to put it in later. It was said her father had turned her into a spoiled princess.

However, all this gradually fell away - she took quickly to the tenets of the Order - almost... zealously. She was self righteous, impatient, headstrong - she seemed to know no fear or doubt - impulsive, and incredibly gifted - not only powerful but academically inclined - she was quite the suck up to teachers, or so I was told, manipulatively trying to get their affirmation while, even at that young age, attempting to best them. She was always a bit bossy, ordered the other children around her, snapping at them, and telling people her senior what to do - informing them quite indelicately of the rules they were breaking."

Mab giggled. "I imagine this little thing full of energy -spine rimrod straight, marching around - like she owned the place."

"Oh yes. But she matured. Most of these traits were unnoticeable after five years - remnants, old habits. However she always, even when she left for the War... had a stiff upper lip. This was one of the teaching she took to quite naturally, quite vigorously. Repression. Control. Most expressive face however -" Another laugh. "This trait was our fault - we planted it and it only grew stronger over the years. It resulted in her becoming... unapproachable...for... if I can explain this correctly, she struggled with discipline - like all young padawans - and so was not completely blank, peaceful. In fact her attempts to be blank and peaceful were exactly what made her not. She was unemotional, naturally, but stoics can kind, and gentle - however instead of allowing lapses, she constantly applied pressure and effort, meaning she interacted with the world with a sort of rigidness. I imagine it must have made her quite lonely... Like Reven...

...It was said... during the Mandalorian War she became great... a Dark Women, imperious, high, full of awful rage - beautiful beyond thought. She thrived."

"Why did she go?"

"Here we only have conjecture. You see during the time that Reven was gathering his forces on Dantoine and Corusant, Bastila was fully opposed. She... perhaps to help with her isolation - was involved in the order extensively - many activities and organization, always busy, always active. Thus she would never disobey it. In a way she was like Reven - she thew herself into these institutions, while he, for most of his life, threw himself into learning - knowledge to him was like being part something, regardless of culture - part of a family. Echos of the past keeping him comfort - the only comfort he knew.

And yet, a month after Reven conceded, she left, as the Exile's padawan - along with the Disciple, Mical."

"This... she was the prodigy of the order wasn't she? This most have come as a shock?"

"Yes... if it was Reven, as fate seemed to have meant it to be, we could have accepted it easily. Or at least, I could have. It seemed likely, in his case. Expected. We had given up on him - written him off. Even from the beginning, even while admiring his brilliance. But she... she was the favorite pupil. The hope even? It was quite the blow."

"Reven... Why? Why did you write him off? Was it because of his master? Arran Kae? What was she like?"

"Kae... had a great capacity for love... A terrible capacity. for love And she loved him..._with fire. _Yet at the same time, she was blind, blind to her apprentices faults - expecting so much, yet overlooking much as well - she spoke so highly of all of her padawans, only for them to transform, years later in her speech and conversation, into bitter failures. Every single one of her padawans fell to the darkside or left the order, except Reven."

There was a pause, and Nomi stared perceiving at Mab, end of the cigarette rhythmically poked and pounded against the table, held vertically down. "You're searching for something, aren't you."

"..Yes"

"And you don't know what. Circling around it. Well... I can't give you all the answers you are looking for - only answers to the questions you ask. And I fear you are running out of things to verbalize - not of course denying that they exist, brightly, in your heart, lodged there.. I don't want to continue, to leave the opportunity for questions too open, for it a terrible feeling as a questioner to run dry, to come to the end of your speech, but still have so much more to ask - desperately. I can however you a warning."

"I have been trying to draw connections between Bastila and Reven. That is what is truly relevant at the moment. Reven rose through the ranks, surrounded by a closely knit group of "friends" - and yet none except for Malak do he use as anything but means to an end. Exploitative. He has always drawn people towards him, yet he has never - they left for the mandlorien war, all of them, even malak. It seems that they were more attracted to the adventure he provided, then the man himself. I tell you this...because I think Reven will treat you as a test... and you deserve to be more. It is only a tendency I have observed in him - and he may have mastered it; he is a complex man - but as it is still possible, it is ethical for me to tell you of it - a person is not symbol, not challenge. Especially you don't need to be treated this way."

"Do you dislike him?"

"No. We are friends - he sought Jolee and I out first. A good group... No. We hurt him. We failed him. Some people aren't meant for Order and they spend their entire life trying to fix that fact - with tools with they don't have. With tools...we never gave them."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Do not lose yourself. Do not forget yourself, in this great puzzle, in this great intricate clashing of gears revolving. You have lost yourself already haven't you...as a direct result of this war. Do not let it happen again.

I tell you to remember yourself - to find yourself as the center of things so you do not become completely displaced.

As for Reven, he needs to learn you are your own person - as much as you do."

At this Nomi leaned in, paused, made a small sort of noise, and then stood up. "It was a pleasure talking to you miss, but unfortunately I can be quite busy, and this day is one of those busy moments. I hope we can speak again sometime."

"Yes, I'd love too."

Nomi lingered - "Before I go: The things I said about Bastilla - the traits were her, as I knew her. If they were really what was inside, I do not know. Recent events -" she stared at Mab over her cigarette, "make me reconsider it. The speed which they were said to have fallen away, among other things. Perhaps they were just products of her environment, compounded. * What a person really is is mystery, I have proven to me time and time again."

*Mab wondered to herself "isn't that all that people are, anyways?" and then thought wryly that she was sounding like Revan

She pulled Mab into a gentle hug, and then departed.

* * *

Mab and Carth stood on the one of the very upper floors of the building - here, most of the walls were open, or missing, (it was more of a multi- level balcony or patio) allowing a breeze to come through, playing with the thin * bangs of Mab's hair (she had recently gotten a haircut, a simple one split down the middle that went to her chin) A few openings were completely covered in green plantlife, and here the abundance of it made the energy wells blend in with the vines - it was hard to see where one began and the other (a thick mass) ended.

* Mab's hair was was actually quite straight ; it's just that she had allowed it to pile up and tangle together {before the haircut}; a frizzy pile, a layered mess of split ends, from which tentacles of almost dreadlock like curls and ponytails protruded

They were right on the edge, a reddish purple twilight, a richening of the sun beyond them - a yellow wall of energy cut a little in front of Mab, and then ended, the gap beginning - she rested her left hand on it. Underneath the palm (which is why she placed it there ) and to the sides, close and far away, streaks of orange and gold raced, beams speeding up. They were on all walls constantly, different colors depending on the color of the wall - they were just easier to distinguish during the night.

Beneath the crust of the planet, built into it, people lay, *pods upon pods, and the entire city was the computer network holding their minds. It was a way of providing two services at once - it was enormously unpractical merely to construct building for decorative and official purposes, for the few dwelling in reality - the buildings had to be computers as well. Both these features - buildings which were truly gigantic computers,. and the entire planet slowly being converted in holding cells, were common on Core World planets, which were populous, wealthy, and advanced.

* Most individuals in their cells were not brains - they still had their bodies, and were fed chemicals, and stimulated so they were kept fit. This was for two reasons 1) As a culture, the the Republic still valued physicality enough that most were unable just to coldly disposes of their bodies - what if they ever wanted to leave? Those who did remove their gray matter completely, and fully integrate it, were seen as freakish, over intellectual monstrosities. 2) It was illegal, as a Republic law, to raise children in a Virtual World. Thus, those who might desire such a thing had to keep their bodies just in case, or they would have to interact with their offspring from screens and droids, a sad relationship *- there were special planets, known as Children Worlds*, places to start a family: running through meadows, daisies, waterfalls, cottages, rosy cheeks, rosy cheeks, snow capped mountains, rosy cheeks - or at least that was the image they sold. However, most of the greatest, non-technological (meaning they did not transform all or most matter into a computer network , despite having the wealth to do so) planets started out as Children Worlds {which were basically unnatural resorts) - the children had grown up their, and apparently found something worth fighting and working for.

* Some of those dwelling within The Sphere, as disembodied spirits, seemed to want to shun human contact completely - or accepting they could not have a flesh and blood child, tried to find a replacement that was just as good. They grew progeny of numbers and energy - planted them and raised them in artificial environments of scrapped knees, fake swing sets, and even faker neighborhood children - unlike biological children, or humans at least, who were grown in a womb for only nine months and then released into the world, the AI's were grown within the womb forever. They were within their parents forever. The sky they looked at, the rate at which the clouds moved and their patterns - their parents in essence became the environments, spreading themselves, controlling every aspect, omnipresent, genius loci.

These AI, although dynamic, never reached the sentience of organic matter. All programs that even got close either committed what basically amounted to suicide, or disappeared, taking with them a large swatch of the network they were present on. The physical operating systems and the data that resided on them simply vanished into the air - this was one of the great mysteries, named Fohrikenlee's Law, after the Jedi that first observed it. Because of this, Seeding was heavily regulated and even outright banned in some jurisdictions, but how to enforce a law in a world were distance is nothing, and time perception?

In the end, their tale, the parent's relationship to the child was seen as pathetic and tragic as a barren mother, or one who had lost a child, holding a doll to her breast, pretending that it was real.

An attempted solution was to take real people as children - a man or women would regress to an infantile state, perhaps even repressing parts of the conscious mind, and then be "raised" by a parent. This was often done for pyschosexual reasons - and ended up bringing these reasons to the forefront, playing them out for both parties. This was often seen as a bizarre, fetishistic relationship, but it was supported by a few psychologists, Jedi or not, and a couple (professional lovers.)

* Coruscant could be said to be a Children World as well, although it, along with being the capital and Planet of Jedi, had another part in the circle of dating, mating, and marrying, one that was more important, one that was more associated with it, defining it. It was known as the City of Lovers - here lovers who had been together on the Sphere, real bodies perhaps light years removed from each other, came to meet in person for the first time - butterflies in stomach, nerves tingling. Looking down on the streets and ways, one all levels of the city, one could almost immediately spot a couple, (in fact almost all individuals who visited interacted this way with each other; close together, deep in conversation, heads near, as all people had come for each other, rather then the planet, per se: Coruscant was a place of physical interaction, mediated by the aura of the light side) hand in hand, one most likely holding a rose (which the other had most conveniently plucked from the side of a building) slowly walking past shops, fountains, gardens, buildings, lights. It was either a dream came true, or a disappointing catastrophe, the meeting.

All and all, Coruscant was filled with transient individuals, whatever their mission be, not long term inhabitants; except those beneath the earth silently - the point being those who were there, out in the open, were constantly in motion, with some exciting, breath taking goal, making it a fluttering place - the others fluttered in the walls, less noticeably.

Mab stared at the lines (which as they ran up and down reminded her of streams of water, running down marble walls - a type of fountain) - together with the twilight, each eye looking at one sight, they made a profoundly beautiful sight, as she stood still, legs spread, and took it in. She had placed her hand on the wall as a sort of unconscious gesture of intimate contact. If only it was this easy to see the minds and touch them, in people! - her reaching out - a kind of simple, evocative protest against isolation, like someone pressing their hands against the glass of their cell. She continued to look out, far gazing, surrounded by color.

"I finished reading all of Level 1 of Force knowledge today." she mentioned, conversationally.

"Wow - you must be a fast reader."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

Carth chuckled. "You sound like someone who's not very introspective - like you learn a new secret about yourself everyday."

" Yeah, looking back on my life, I don't remember any epiphanies - it seems like shallow - all of it surface, no insight, no pattern. I think I was a shallow person. I'm ready to change that."

Carth looked over to Mab, and smiled fondly. "I'm glad to hear it."

The sun continued to fall. "Have you heard from Serik?"

"No; T3 told me he was still in critical condition and kept in a solid ward.- the serum must have reacted poorly. They're doing everything they can."

"I see..."

"We should go visit him sometime." she said.

* * *

"All sapient lifeforms in this galaxy, except the ones uplifted by parent races, evolved intelligence as an adaption that would allow them to succeed in their specific environments. Little did they know that such an adaption would allow them to succeed in any environment - to create, maintain, and design their own environments, anywhere - along with the ability to create new, more sophisticated adaptions. It was the meta adaption.

What is the Force then? An adaption is a change to the body that allows one to survive in an environment, developed through evolution, but the Force permits one to select... to live any ability or course of action that may be useful - and to develop this adaption within a lifetime, within a second, if need be, without conceding to what is possible or not, without using any tools besides the Force itself.

If intelligence is the meta adaption, the Force is pure unadulterated survival, the doing away of the conduit, the middle man , the direct channel to life and power.

There is a second reason I will not teach you "tricks." Those who use the Force without training tend to develop in boxes - if in their world being famous is the greatest path to success - which is survival - they will become glamorous and attractive, without gaining any other skills."

Here Reven paused, brow furrowed. "Allow me to qualify that. By 'without training' I mean without the training of the Order - this is not to imply a force user without training is a force user raw. In a way the the Conduit is still trained, just by their world around them, haphazardly. They are in no sense free, unmolded.

All this meaning: I can not teach you tricks as your first and only skill, because such a thing comes not from a focus in power, but a focus in mind. I could only develop in you a state of mind, and then help you master what naturally arose from it. I will not do such a thing. While I refuse to teach you fully, I will not...cripple you so, for your satisfaction or mine. And to teach you the ability to do tricks _without _developing this state of mind would be giving you the ability to do anything."

"Such what, it's all or nothing? You begin teaching me and it can't be helped, I will begin to learn everything?"

"I -

"Oh, by the way are there any books you want me to read? I begin -

"It does not require thought. Only training. You thoughts have no bearing on the level I expect you to stay at. And that in fact is the answer to your first question as well. Allow me to explain.

Along with the dark side and the light side, there are further divisions of the Force - divisions within the Jedi Order. Long ago these divisions were more prominent - now the gap has been bridged.

The Force was divided into three parts: The Flowing Force, The Living Force, and The Directed Force.

As I mentioned before, Force Users tend to develop mental habits or sublimations, as they are technically called. You will hear them refereed to as Survival Fixations or SFs as well. In comparison to mental blocks or tics, they are perfectly healthy and natural. The entire history of The Jedi Order, however, as been the struggle to avoid them: The Jedi has no niche. All the arenas of life are his specialty, his domain. He is not the jack of trades, but master - a superior lifeforms. The Overman.

There are some who think that any sort of conscious effort is a obstruction to following the will of the force - that one can serve most earnestly by remaining blank. The Flowing Force is the greatest extreme of this belief; not only do the followers not have SFs, they strive to remain completely free of inclinations, goals, ideals, thought, and skill. The Jedi Order has always sought to break down mental blocks and habits, and teach systems to keep the mind clear - all the best techniques of creating and maintaining emptiness have been produced by Flowing Masters. (*1) Their difference from the rest of the Order is that they do not replace it with anything.

They - back then - could not even be considered to be part of the Order - they did not heed commands from the Council, as this was the imposition of structure on their minds - and drifted through space - they were known as the Spinning Monks, for they traveled the stars in ships with randomized hyperdrives. The Councils of yore always kept a seat or two open for them, if some blank faced monk wished to wander in and produce something profound - and a few council rooms were built around mediating monks, in the hope that they would occasionally say a useful phrase or sentence. The Tree Courtyard at Datointine is once such example. The name of many council seats comes from what the Flowing Master was known to do while sitting there, or what their style of meditation was - The Gaze Following Falling Leafs Council; The Handstand Practorium, The Dancing Fingers Council; The Twitching Brow College.

Users of the Living Force held the same philosophies as the Flowing Masters - only they saw no reason not to make their _actions _deliberate. There was no reason to - to them - not be deliberate about their bodies. They trained their bodies - and sought to strengthen their relationships, minds, and skills. As long as their mind remained irrelevant, or removed from the question - as long as they remained will less, violation less, they were only acting as Flowing Masters of greater ability. Their doctrine were fundamentally the same to the Flowing Masters -and the two groups shared a great accord - or I should say the Living Masters felt a one sided admiration to the Flowing Masters - the flowing masters did not bother themselves with such things.

The Living Masters doctrines only make sense if they are founded upon the idea of finite and distinguishable "power levels." (*2) If one with a fully blank mind - a flowing master - is infinitely powerful, or rather infinitely useful, at the full level of usefulness to the Force, there is no reason to train. It is Living Master doctrine - and this one change is what alters them from Flowing Masters; interesting what small tweaks can do - that some have more potential then others. This idea has had great repercussions - has been carried on through the ages.

The implications: only the truly powerful should be become Flowing Masters - others will do greater good - and in fact this is the will of the Force - to bolster their natural force abilities with training. To configure their minds and bodies in a way that provides extra supports without inferring or acting as a mental block - something that the Living masters believe possible. Their training can only help fulfill the force's will - how could being stronger, faster, or smarter, or one with reflexive defensive moves make it harder? Survival instincts, fighting skills, knowledge, it can only be useful - their goal is to perfect it, to use as a foundation for service, without becoming fixated.

The Directing Masters were the only ones who truly broke with the rest of the group. They sought to follow the Force and use it to advise them, but not to live it. They would make their own decisions, in the end - listening to the possibilities and thinking about them - consciously. They were intellectuals, rationalists - you can imagine how much they differed from the others. They did not hold the Force infallible - or that serving it was the highest value.

"How was this split reconciled?"

"Eventually a group of teachers and masters collectively introduced a new theory, known as the Unifying Force - that the direction of the Force and development of conscious use is in fact a two way path - that consciousness is the ground eye view of the Force, the lieutenant or servant of the force, it's 'man on the front' a way to get more specific, zoomed in, not an obstruction, a component of it, not something manipulating it, and that both direct each other, a feedback loop - one and same. This builds on the previous contributions of the Living Force, which allowed self improvement as the will of the Force.

In a current day and age, the Unifying Force is the ruling conception - although cyclically a counter culture will develop - the idea of the living force, although compatible, has been placed, seized upon, as the diametric opposite. People gather around it.

"So it's just the unifying force and the living force?"

"Yes I have not heard of anyone come and claim to be a Directing Master after the union; the directing masters got all they wanted, and to say to be one after the fact would be professing to a radicalism close to the Dark Side - and the last flowing master... it has to have been at least three hundred years. Anyways the point of this is background information so I can make clear what i have to explain to you.

All padawans are trained in the unifying force - but their training in the beginning is merely learning the living force, in all but name only. It is the base. This is what I will do, except we will never go any further: I will train you so the Force underlies all your actions, supplements and enhances them. I will show you how to expand your actions, not your will. You have remarkably few mental blocks, so we will only have to focus on one aspect of the living force - self improvement, not purging and dissolution.

We will begin with fighting and reflex. Once we condition these, all follows - they are at the base of all character, movement, and demeanor. You will learn to flinch with the force. Your muscles will breath with it, your blood will glow with it. You will grow like a outline, and as you grow you will fill with the Force - you will expand like a mold, and no space will be empty. All that is required of you is that you train. Jedi training in the living force is different from normal self improvement in the sense that you will be pushed, finally, to your limit - we have the tools, the teachings, the abilities that no other group has - as well as knowledge of your full potential, knowledge that a non force user could not possibly obtain or understand."

"But I won't be levitating objects, or reading minds?"

"You will not do such things on purpose. This extension requires consciousness to be used effectively.. I think it is something that can be avoided."

"Even if I don't want to avoid it?"

"What you want is irrelevant."

"You were just talking about how the force is founded on my rea-"

" Have you not been listening? Your will to survive is all that concerns me. And that is the instinct that we will build on. That is the same in everyone. Identical, not unique in sense. The upper levels of personality, what you consider yourself, do not need to be considered, for all your training is to develop route, impersonal, mechanized reactions. Tools for the force. a shell for it. Faster then thought, faster then...jokes... and witticisms. Your use of the force will not contaminated... or influenced."

"And here I thought this would be a team building exercise. You get to know me a little- some interpersonal relationship work. Pity."

"A greater one I will never know."

"And yet" she pondered, "aren't even people's survival reactions unique to them, when you really think about it?The way they move, the way their face contorts, the way they leap, and shy away - and so as they moved through the Force, it seems that would be special to them. Something"

she caught Reven's face, and noticed he was listening solemnly "tangible to them. For although both the bird and the bear both want to survive, and draw upon this will, the bird's scream of inarticulate rage is differs from the bears deep bellow..."

"I guess... it just depends how you look at it" said Reven slowly.

"No. It's if you look closely enough. If you look closely enough, everything is different."

"Yes, and my robes are made out of atoms if i look closely enough, each one different" he said dismissively " but to take that as meaningful, to try to make that into something, will end with me delusional, grabbing at them and expecting to have them pour through my fingers..." his voice softened, become quiet "like water from a fall... when in the end, it's still solid...still disappointing similar to everything else.

The small things have no magic. It's just all dull blocks in every way that matters. T he molecules in the air - float away. I close my hands around them, without ever even seeing...merely wishing for something to grab onto, something tiny...that might lift me away."

* * *

1.

* A Later Conversation: "The Flowing Masters were depicted - in statues and models - as men with fat golden bellies, in lotus position - although this is only a metaphor or artistic choice, as all Jedi, even Flowing Masters, are inhumanly fit and intelligent. Perhaps these statues were based of conflated ideas and rumors - it is said females would meander about the galaxy, until they came across the man they were meant to mate with - they searched for the combination, the one combination of egg and sperm that was needed, perfect, that the Force wished for. They called themselves the Bearers of Fate...for numerous reasons - they gave birth to various futures, in a variety of ways."

"Literally giving birth being one of them."

"One does what is asked of them."

"Imagine being a child of that union, major ego trip. My mother traveled half way across the galaxy to conceive me I think I was one of those kids. I feel special. And I mean, all the awesome -"

"Being destined for important things does not mean being destined for great things... Enjoy having stepping on a crack and killing a butterfly so it's death effects someone halfway across the world being your life's goal, Argonbirth. )

* * *

2*There are two major ideas in Living Master doctrine which most criticism _of_ the living masters is founded upon.

1) The idea that training does _not_ act as a mental block

2) The other, which the critic Tchojlosdcy pointed out and called The Great Lie; the falsehood that is the foundation for the entire Living Force system: the idea of power levels. Tchojlosdcy declared that one was - as the Flowing Masters believed - in the most useful form as a blank slate, and the Living Master idea of usefulness levels was only to allow themselves to train and attempt to control their destinies - an egoistical attempt to focus their power in a more awe inspiring and impressive way.

If these two criticisms are not dismissed out of hand, a Living master will often counter with the idea that they are necessary evils; that training does weaken ones connection to the force but the benefits it provides are greater, and that the Great Lie is useful because many do not have the fortitude to become Flowing Masters and thus need the stimulation and activity of training and self improvement.

* * *

3*

*The Directing Master faction was the most varied group of the order: using the mind as a leader introduced a human element. Within were many cells and schools of thoughts - the directing masters as a form of opposition still managed to remain coherent and powerful, due to a certain power and charisma of it's adherents.

Later Conversation:

If the Order was made up completely of Flowing Masters, each Jedi would have no need for each other, except to come together spontaneously. But if being a Flowing Masters is the only way to way to fully understand the Force - or so was the wide spread conception - can you imagine what the introduction of the other sects caused?"

"It introduced doubt... right?"

"Exactly; the proponents of the Living Force admired the Flowing Masters, which meant they believed one who was complete thoughtless was always correct.. Yet they held this belief while at the same time thinking. This caused dissonance. How did they resolve their doubts, in themselves, or amongst others? How did they resolve conflicts?

They are the birth of Council. That means when one felt he or she was doing wrong, it was a possibility that she was misinterpreting the force - something a Flowing Master could never do, as they was nothing to do the misinterpreting. An action might actually be incorrect, not just incompressible; and the fault may lie with the Jedi. And so the Living Masters interacted with each other, each trying to help the other find a way. And on top and in between this structure the directing masters inserted themselves, seeking to actively manipulate.

In a order of merely flowing masters and living masters, the flowing masters would form a council at the top, and dispense wisdom randomly - the living masters respected them. With the directing masters in the mix, the flowing masters were thrust aside, for they could not keep up with politics and the councils became a mix of the two opposing groups.

...It is said that infrequently, however - the the order constantly shifting - that the pieces occasionally came together, and a council composed completely of flowing masters would be formed. A stony faced council, giving obscure, mysterious proclamations.

Perhaps these stony faced councils where in fact made up of directing masters, seeking to gain authority through pretension. It is unknown if this is true or not - it's certainly obvious when it's not however - we have records of Directing Masters angrily referring to the council not as the Stony Faced Council, as was the name for this type, but the baby faced council - rooms of murmurs and gurgles, playing on the conceptions of a doughy infantile nature of the flowing masters."

* * *

The walls around them - creating a simple rectangular room - were yellow and cream white - the light that emanated from them gave the area a buttery hue. They were delicate - a bump to them from outside would cause them to flicker, or even make a thin square disappear suddenly , and one could move parts of them physically, by hand, by merely grabbing hold and pulling, sliding- a partition conjured in the middle of a much larger space.

Reven and Mab stood across from each, both wearing simple exercise robes.

"Again."

Mab nodded, and sprinted at him; on both her hands she wore thick padded gloves, covered in nodes, and in her right fist held blank air, colored like a simple cylinder of light brown by a grainy beam, a stream of motes, that moved with her from the side of the room - the gloves contracted and expanded, and applied pressure and stimulation to her muscles, bone structure and skin - it felt like she was holding a real object. Any kinetic energy or stress that would be felt by hitting someone or something with a sword or swinging one would be applied to her hand. (and up her arm to the rest of her body as well)

She swiped at Reven - he stepped out of the way, and brought up his own weapon - all she had to do was touch, poke, or jab him and a red crescent, glowing brightly, would appear over laid on his body. She swung it near his head, then stabbed, rotated, and swiped once again - he ducked slightly, spun out of the way, side stepped, and moved backwards. She increased her speed - he took three steps backwards, one to the right - she shoved under his armpit, and then with both heads brought the sword down like a club at his knees - he twirled and blocked to with his own sword, then pushed back. She felt her right glove compress, and then send a bolt of force that felt completely natural, real- she stumbled slightly.

"Now T3-M4!" she cried.

A second jet of light shot into her previously empty hand, a river that quickly formed a weapon - she brought both the swords back, and then swung them together, giving a small huff of trumpth - Reven, seemingly surprised, did not block them and they clapped together in the center of his head. However, no markings appeared, and Reven began to move forward, the swords projecting further past his head - she pulled them away, and then thrust them forward through his chest - he kept moving until he was about an inch away, face blank, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder, gripping tightly from between.

"If you're going to break the rules, don't be prepared for mercy - for me to act fair. They're in place so you can learn -" said Reven, near her back, words coming out through a smile.

"How?" The Reven in front of her still remained - a hologram. "The moment you had T3 hack the system, I sent him a command to create a hologram of me - then I quickly moved away, hiding."

"I... I was looking right at you!"

"Exactly. It wouldn't help you to cheat; it's the only thing protecting you in fact, not cheating. If I really wanted to defeat you, I could do so in a minute.":

"But I didn't even see you flicker or anything!"

Reven chuckled. "It was clever, I'll give you that. Try it again some time. Just not on me."

* * *

A gap between four buildings, an open square - pillar of various widths and sizes poking out of the mist. It was a public space, and many trained here, hopping from one to other, attempting to push each off, balancing. Reven and Mab clashed with fighting staffs on two thin stone poles close to each other - someone in the distance slipped and fell into the fog screaming - he disappeared and a few minute later a tendril came from the sky, touched the pillar, desposisting him to his original spot.

* * *

On a rooftop, kicking and punching/ Mab swam through the pool, then in the end flew out and began running, jumping through hoops of lights and over blocks of flame; she cartwheeled the rest of the length/ She stood on her head, and began to push off the ground with her arms/ "You are to harness your natural reflexes and to program them so they are efficient, deadly, and relevant to the current situation, current world we inhabit. An new automation - your old one is outdated - it can be built on."

/ A spinning kick to the face, Reven blocked it, and then chopped at her "Krog Tackugiumnam is the name for the combat style of The Living Force and thus the basics of the Unifying ; it includes all weapon and martial arts. In it are many focused skill sets and smaller, more specific categories, but it is all encompassing. It is to fight deliberately; to be aware of every action, to control every action. " She punched at him - he turned away, taking it in the chest. "You can make your body soft and hand. You can flex and release. Limp and tight." She continued attacking; he moved with her, body loose and flexible, occasionally allowing himself to be hit or pushed, but never in pain, never damaged. "It is to follow the will of the Force, but to have awareness of the human organism that is doing the following - the body that is doing the following. Control your heart beat. Control your blood flow. Regulate the strength of your attacks. The speed of your dodges.

/ She stood at the screen, grabbing at holograms and pushing floating buttons; swatting and maneuvering

"Five - ten - green - red - blue - 11 - 228

/Within the exercise machine she twirled around at deadly speeds, pushing and pulling the levers

/ "Deliberate. Awareness and control without interference. Spontaneous with full knowledge! Focus without narrowness.

/ "Up down side up right left extended - left eye closed - right hand twisted - drop. Fall! Sit - roll - full body extend".

She swung and ducked and and swayed and propped himself up, through and on the tangled mess of wooden, padded beams, a dodecahedron in which she constantly moved, poking and protruding and entering back inside.

/Blindfolded, back on the pillar, she brought the staff down on his

/"Was my potential wasted?

"Not in the way you mean it. There is no force energy that was bottling up beneath your brow, waiting to get out. And the explosion that may of happened of Taris was not that of a build up, bursting, but more of a child, with a deadly weapon.

But your potential was wasted in the sense that you...could do so much more - more can be expected of you, and you can give more. You have not stretched to your fullest. You have not reached your limits. The military wasted your potential...because they could not comprehend it."

/ "Feel the poison moving through your veins? Where is it now?

"Feel the effects it has on your stomach? What system is it influencing?

/ "How tried are you? How hungry are you? How much food would you have to eat to not be hungry?

/Tell me you heart rate! Now reduce it!"

/Down. Sidestep!

/Wake! Sleep! Wake!

* * *

She was on her room reading (the unclassified, non privatized knowledge on the Force - Reven still refused to let her access anything else) when a ball of light, a flaming will o wisp, was conjured up near her - a simple robotic voice came from it instructing her to meet with a group of Jedi Masters. She left her room briefly following the ball until it disappeared, and went down the hallways, lead by cartoony, large blue arrows, one after the other, wide on the ground. She took a right, and then went down a slope, and met up with a quick moving Reven.

"Are you going to the same thing?"

"Yes. I've know for a few days that a meeting was scheduled -"

"What for -"

"Patience."

"Definition please." she replied cheekily.

He gave her a light smile; they turned another corner, then went half down the hallway until they were near a section of the inner wall glowing pink. Reven touched it and it vanished - they entered into another solid room, a dark dim chamber of pillows and comfortable furniture, the walls made of fur, carpet and padding. There were three large cushions on the ground, and three oval shaped chairs, floating behind them - Nomi and Jolee sat on the cushions, in front of the chairs, forgoing them, Nomi sprawled, holding a cigarette, adding to the smoky atmosphere, Jolee compact, legs folded, shirt open to reveal a wiry, thin chest - tough. In the third egg** chair** there was a hologram of a younger women with short, bright red hair - Vima Sunrider.

"Reven. Mab." said Nomi smiling.

Reven nodded, and then made to sit down - the chair behind Nomi quickly moved into place, sensing his intentions and he fell into it. A chair went behind Mab to, and she slumped down, sliding, until she was sitting on the ground with her back to it, legs out.

"You called us here?"

"Yes" said Nomi, pausing - awkwardly.

"Do we have to have a reason?" said Jolee, as Reven looked for her to explain, or say more. He was smiling, trying to mend relations, be friendly.

"I would prefer it" said Reven sardonically.

"Well you have to consider Mab as well, what she prefers - I'm sure she wouldn't mind spending time with us for the sake of it. Right Mab?"

MAb smiled unselfconsciously - her mischievous, diabolic grin, face pointing down, revealing tiny pointy teeth. It resembled the grin of a child suddenly spoken to, and embarrassed, delighted, and wrapped up in it's own silliness - a sort of goofy shyness or bashfulness - an interrupted introspective world. "Mam, I've been reading all these texts on the Force. But to actually hear it from the lips of a master -"

"Well then you came to the wrong place." said Jolee. "If you want to hear some rambling though -"

"I do find that writing still hasn't reached the level where it can fully transmit the nonsensical blathering of old geezers like us" said Nomi with ironic, posed dignity. There was a pause. "So Reven" she said conversationally, maneuvering carefully, trying not to cause any more damage, to mend bridges. "You are training Mab?

A longer pause. "Only in the first tier."

"The living force" said Nomi knowledgeably, bringing a cigarette to her mouth.

"Yes. I can see no harm in that."

"And what if Bastilla should return? Any person trained, without the corresponding Jedi teachings is at risk of falling to the dark side. Easy prey for...recruitment... or self corruption."

"Mab has great emotional intelligence and control - few mental blocks."

"But she does not have the cultural training - the indoctrination of the Jedi order."

Reven scoffed.

"Can you fault us in finding that important? Necessary?"

"Loyalty is overrated, as both of you know."

Nomi stared at him. "We are defined by what we are loyal to... keep that in mind Reven."

Mab piped in "It's really not all that bad. I think it's sounds more impressive then it is - it's just self improvement."

"There are some selves... that should not be improved. Do not take offense dear - they should not be improved without proper safeguards in place."

"What have I done? What do i have to prove that I'm not a bad person."

"It's not what you do - it's what is done to you. What has been done to you is what is important. You haven't the proper education -"

"Even those with "the proper education" fall to the dark side" said Reven...

"That is why we must be especially careful."

"It's worth it. And she deserves it."

"Mab, are you the type that would stop at just the opening gate?"

Mab was beginning to become frustrated "I - I don't know what to tell you. I want to learn, yes... more then anything. i want to be great... But I will respect the wishes of the order. You can't even guess how much I honor the council, how much admiration i have.

"Spoken like a true student" admitted Vima.

"She is not any student" said Jolee.

"But she _a_ student" said Reven. "Meaning she's a human being. And that means she should be treated -"

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you" said Jolee, suddenly angry, on the attack. "You are such a -"

"Jolee" said Nomi.

Vima spoke up, a women with a rock star attitude, wearing a cloth jerkin and huge boots, one leg folded over the other, a bandana around her neck. She flipped the slice of hair away from her eyes, with a a sway of her head, something she did frequently and began, in a husky voice. "Let her get trained. Reven is insistent on it, and she really desires it - we have to pick our battles. Besides, as long as she kept in the domain of the living force, I don't see her as being a danger if she goes rogue - which is, if we're honest with ourselves, what we're really worried about. Don't want to blunt or worry anyone but yeah, it is something we have to consider.

And no offense, but our asses are covered if she's at that level - it's impressive to jump really high, or kick like a blur, but if that's all she can do, big deal. She'll be taken down. I don't want to make you feel inferior sweat, " she said turning to Mab, "but - well there's a war going on and we can't just hand you the biggest weapons. And we have to be aware of your strengths, and regulate your power. You're weak compared to a Knight, and that's just how we like it, sorry. As long as Reven doesn't teach her anything beyond what is approved - I think we'll all be safe. There are some things that can't be learned through experimentation."

Nomi and Jolee took this in, Nomi nodding. "Very well. There is one other however issue. The topic of your force bond with Mab"

"Yes?"

"I feel... it has no purpose. Your main reason keep has now been removed - you cannot stimulate Mab's visions through the Force, as has been demonstrated."

Reven stiffened - Mab realized with horror that had been watching when Reven had tried to access her mind.

"Be this as it may" said Reven, composed, icy "It has other uses, and as long as it has even one, it is more benefit then harm."

"That is a bold statement" said Jolee.

"But it is true."

"What other uses, if I may ask."

"We're been over this."

"Humor me."

"i can still see her visions. I can interpret them -"

"Mab could transmit them into a holocron, and then you, with the entire council could watch and examine them."

'That's not the same, and you know it! Something is lost! I _feel _the visions with her!"

"What else?"

"I see through her eyes, I sense her presence. I can protect her better."

"Protect her? From who? Who do you think could harm her, within these walls?"

"If she travels -"

"If - which has not decided yet. And if shes does, she will traveling with masters of great skill - myself most likely included. The bond will not necessary - it will not even register.. A superfluous tool."

"I am most powerful Jedi in this order. And such a bond is always useful. Such a bond always...changes everything.

"Your arrogance - " began Jolee

"My knowledge! My knowledge of my skill!"

"You spoke of Mab's desires" began Vima "why don't we ask her what she wants?"

"Your false concern disgusts me. But very well. "

Nomi turned to Mab. "Well, this bond. Does it distress you?"

Mab looked towards Reven - he had turned away. She realized with a sinking feeling that Nomi had set her up for this moment - that she had told her of "being herself" to influence her into wanting the bond gone.

"Reven, with the bond, is skilled at teaching me. I am learning so much."

"Bonds develop between student and teacher - a new one can be created gradually" said Nomi, a bit condescendingly.

"This is one stronger then anything I have ever heard of. I've been reading up on them."

"Things of such a nature - did not always end well. Their strength is the participants downfall."

"More reason to subject myself to it," said Mab quietly, realizing this was true. "I don't feel consumed by it. In fact, it's teaching me to know myself more. It's teaching me to understand my own emotions, and giving me new ones - before, I don't _remember _feeling. " She blinked. "I don't. Not much. It poured something into me."

I want to see how far it takes me" she said, blushing slightly at this.

"This is not orthodox" said Vima, "and it is dangerous."

"I heard these words before." said Nomi. "I've spoken them before..."

"So have I...' Jolee put his head into his hands, sounding defeated, weary. Mab caught non verbal, telepathic communication between them - a hint of something, nothing more, a whisper, a strumming of a cord. Nomi paused, -

"Do you want to leave soon, Reven" asked Nomi. "What use is the bond, if you shall be gone?"

"I am leaving tomorrow in fact. But that does not resolve the situation, in any sense. And I will return shortly. Afterward, I wish to take Mab to the old Jedi temple"

"It was not planned that that that should be your duty."

"She will got more out it if we go together."

"And when that comes to pass?"

"She may experiences visions - of great utility."

"Yes, and a quest of some sorts may arise from it. But you shall not accompany her on that - surely you at least agree with us there."

"I did..."

"As the head of the Order, it is my right to travel with her. Or picks companions."

"Yes."

They are stopped, dissatisfied, frustrated, unfulfilled.

"When Reven is gone, you may continue your training. There are teachers here who will help you - I shall instruct them too."

"It's not the same. They're only doing it because you told them. Reven" she was trying to justify why she had kept the bond - why Reven was good, perhaps; for she would not keep the bond with a bad man; why she liked him. She was sticking up for him. "Reven did it because I asked."

Nomi looked at her pityingly, face long. Jolee continued to stare down, cupping his cranium. - he seemed to end up in this position occasionally, getting angrily and angrier, boiling. "Can you excuse us, Mab."

"Sure."

* * *

Mab stood, leaning on a window sill with her arms, staring once more, as she did frequently, pensively into the horizon. Moving flowers of green and white twinned around her idle fingers, squeaking slightly; chirping.

She wanted to learn - in learning, she had seen a way to define herself, to decide who she was. Boundaries could be strengthened, meaning created, interior organized. Education was merely more growth - it was the logical next step - or rather the logical way to view the whole problem, a more practical framework: all of it - the quest for self knowledge - was education in the end and it was time to seek after it deliberately, instead of hoping to come across awareness by accident, a feature revealing itself through trial and error. Her self had been a toy to test out, learning the rules, the tricks, the quirky easter eggs; it was time to set it in motion, on some inexorable, precarious wobble and not only that but to break it in , to use it so well that parts snapped and loosened, that it shifted and fell into place.

It was time to search, instead of waiting passively for thoughts to bubble up, and even if the searching was for exterior wisdom and skill, the act of searching itself would further define her, the march ahead requiring the insubstantial vapor of her soul - a red orange form of a women, a shaped sun, rounded head, arms, legs, and chest - to brighten, solidify - every step forward requiring a harder foot of fire, each climb determined the outline of light pull itself together further - eyes blossoming, mouths breaking open, fingers separating until each one was individual, so the rock on the climb could be grasped.

And not only this, but she desired nothing more then to be excellent, (ad feared failure, defeat, banality - her lost days thus a nagging terror and a corrosive thought) to glow and blind, not just find, but to have the form of her compact beyond the point where she knew herself to the point where others would know her, her greatness, merely by the shine, and she would know her greatness, be surrounded by it at every moment, without fail and could revel in it ; surrounded by it for all she was would be great, dense in her greatness - there was a reason her obsession, her goal, was not just any form of learning, but learning with the greatest organization in the galaxy - two needs fulfilled.

And so to her Reven was some being standing near a gateway - some taciturn knowing guardian of a door, which behind she sensed whispers and chants - in his manner she saw something that could be admired, and emulated - he seemed privy to, or to contain deep, impenetrable powers and abilities, in everything - in everything she saw this hint of greatness and wanted it, associating him with the means to get it - in the way he interacted with others, in the way he moved - he was a powerful man.

Then the bond was a way to grow - like a plant molding to another and sprouting upwards - she saw a mentor, and it was not just because he was a Jedi that made her covetous and hungry of him and what he had to offer - it was not the knowledge he possessed or his training, but the way he lived - how he embodied that space that was him. She wanted to associate with him - she wanted to orbit admirable people, to connect with them - he did not overwhelm her, or make her feel inadequate - he attracted her - not a wave drowning but a star pulling, drawing; he further defined her, as a polar, far removed, opposite, separate.

During the start of this period in her life it had been an exciting, whirlwind journey - she barreled through events with little reflection, living in the moment, a screaming - in joy - occupant of a ride in an amusement realm - it was nothing more then pure exhilaration and wonder. Now, after the encounter with Exile, this journey was still interesting, compelling, and powerful, but it had taken a deathly, melancholy edge - the intense emotion darkened, hardened, became sharp and piecing in it's intensity to the touch, still beautiful, but aching, and cutting,the dazzling crystal babble into a ball of spiky glass, painful to hold, white hot - but at the same time her resolve to experience it grew harder, took on not the lightness of airy joyness, of pure delight but of amber oozing into stone - the hardness of absolute dedication. She was drawing into herself, gaining weight.

As for the man himself...at the moment she was a creature of weak empathy and feeling, slowing blossoming into something else. She had been too focused on her own feeling of break neck adventure, too wrapped up in it (which, as stated, has now altered into something darker, a wandering through a graveyard, the breaths coming out of her not that of naive excitement or even frightened, blood pounding enthusiasm but something drier, sicklier, a thing with a slower, more thoughtful tempo, a sense of the invetiable forbidden, of transgressing beyond in the unknown, of pushing past a great illness, of doing the impossible, the blasphemous - it was an awe inspiring, uplifting feeling of dark, powerful courage, persevering. Not any scared childish giggling, rule breaking, or happy hand clapping at the interestingness of it all - something mature, ghastly, harsh, strong. ) to develop real true affection for any of her party members.

Soon she would have to confront interacting with others to fully understand herself, she knew, to be complete; but all her life it seemed a hard thing, a thing that only had apathy and listlessness floating around it -; or the strength was there, she was coming to realize, but beyond that, beyond the feeling, there was no will, no true inclination to translate it into action. A missing bridge. A laziness or cold inability. Or perhaps a feeling that the emotions were arbitrary, meaningless, not powerful enough (she was not a very emotional or sensitive person) and thus worthless.

She was learning so slowly, she thought bitterly.

* * *

She stood in the middle of a constantly moving, small circle of holographic posts, raising and lowering - they popped out of the ground, and when she kicked or shoved her hands at them, turned green and slipped back into the floor. Bouncing up and up down. Carth and Mission stood to the side, watching Mab in the center.

"Reven told me that as I moved and fought, occasionally I would use the Force, incorporated into my actions - as a sort of - she paused and chopped very rapidly, moving in a methodical circle. "extension of them. A punch continued on, as an explosion - a kick tipped with a thrust of air. "

"That's why you put yourself in dangerous situations, on Taris so much. Already you were relying on such a thing -"

"Yeah, but it hasn't happened here. Only real danger. Not fake - not artificial danger. It's ridiculous that I have to wait for situations like that! If it makes me better, I should have access to it at any time!"

"Maybe some day you'll be able to control it,. completely. You're already farther then I expected you to be."

" That's because I get what I want" she said, shocking herself so much she stopped, lost focus "I will control it. I'll get what I want." She made an significant motion - all the post slid into the ground at the same moment. She stared at Carth surprised face and repeated herself. "ill get what I want."

* * *

Carth, stripped to the waist, a strip of cloth hanging off the waist of his loose pants to his knees, and Mab circled each other. He swiped at her; she ducked under his arms, then locked her foot behind his and pulled. He put his own foot in the way, and shoved at her, then continued with his momentum, and knocked into her body. They grappled with each other, flesh slapping and pounding; she put one hand under his armpit and then attempted to throw him over her; she leaned back rapidly, to lift him - he shoved at her throat, and kicked, and they both went down, rolling

They struggled for a few moment, and Mab, more dexterous then Carth, forced both of them into a roll backwards, a wheel of two people. They went over once, and when Carth was on the bottom, he pushed with his knees, sending her bouncing away. He crawled, and then collapsed onto the top of her body, pinning her. Mab bucked once, twice, hit with her arms - he shoved them against the mat - and then managed to roll their two bodies - he put her arm around her head, and then other on a leg holding it in a awkward position, and kept her at his side - she surrendered.

* * *

CUT SCENE:

_Reven, hooded, walks, the ceiling above him broken open, the sides smashed as well, so his path is ledge like; the sky is dark, thunderous, metallic; past him, from all sides, streams of silver, black, and gray rush forward, rustlings his cloak, occasionally unbalancing him or sending him stumbling slightly. _

_The very building he is in dissolves as he walks , crumbling, vanishing, eaten away as the streams rush through. He reaches the end, takes a few steps back, runs and then jumps, landing on a another building, the roof top of it. He continues walking, a man in a sand storm. The city is being recycled, stripped clear - the nanobots - a multitude beyond imagination - rub at each other, and occasionally, in the open spaces of the sky, create static electricity - lightening shots from the air, forking. _

_He makes another leap, and then one more - he is now going down in a shrinking structure. At a certain level he kicks out the window, makes a motion with his hand, and jumps - arms and legs wide, he flies through the air, in the stream, buoyed, lifted. It extends his jump and he falls in a slight arc; he lands on a further away building, the lowest thus far. He takes a bridge, a steep slope down, and comes into a courtyard of rubble - a seat of some collapse. Streams flew over it, under it, and to the sides, but besides a few wisps, it is relatively untouched. In the corner, under pillars, half buried, a ship protrudes. Reven moves aside a rock, revealing the ships side. It's says "The Ebon Hawk." _

_"This will do" he mutters to himself. _

_

* * *

_

_Inside a vortex, from the bottom of of it, the dark lower regions, a ship flies upwards, through the crackling cyclone. _

_

* * *

_

Carth, Mission, and Mab sat on a couch, watching a film projected by T3-M4 onto the wall - the energy walls were intelligent, but T3 preferred it this way; to be included or part of the family, perhaps. Mission ate ice cream out of bowel, a little smudge of it on her nose, as part of a joke.

A figure stood in the door - Reven. "Mab, may I speak to you?"

"Reven, when did you get back - T3 pause it please."

"I've been back for half a day."

"Where did you go, if you don't mind me asking?" said Carth

"Taris."

There was a pause.

"A nanomite swarm is dissembling the planet. All of it."

"Why. Why did you go?" asked Mab.

"The walls have ears" said Reven ironically, a slight smile, gesturing to the glowing screen as an example of the technology involved. "And faces, as it appears. I'll inform you later."

"Actually T3 is doing that. I guess he's our ears...and other organs."

"Doot root teee!"

"Reven." said Carth, coming closer, intimately. "I haven't gotten a chance to ask you - it was Nord who contacted the Exile, right?"

"Yes" said Reven in his frozen distantness.

"Did you find him?"

"No, and imagine he has not made contact with the Exile either. It was a failure to her, what he provoked her into, and it would best for him to avoid Vuncroy. He may try to redeem himself, but any interaction beyond that...

"What about the Disciple?"

"There are reports, rumors... that the Exile herself walked the surface of the extinguished planet, and found him, rescued him... pulled from some pile, as the last nuclear missiles fired, and the last meltdowns occurred, as the world went through it's last dying shakes...shudders. He is marked now, chosen, the only survivor, and it will not end until I kill him or he kills me."

Mab had a clear, vivid image of the Exile, walking like some mourner in funeral garb, veiled, cloth blowing behind, trailing in the wind, moving forward slowly through the ruins, the violent clouds and swirls, slightly removed, at a distance, until she came across a deathly white hand, a copse hand, sticking straight up from some heap - ripping the owner of the hand out of the heap viciously, an unwilling infant born into a world being ripped to shreds.

"The whole planet is just being recycled? All that history, all that structure?"

"It is haphazardly, inefficiently built. We are taking the materials, and providing something else with them, perhaps something better. What you really mourn is the lose of culture and life."

"And that is always people" said mission.

"Yes. And that is not being destroyed now. That was destroyed by the Exile at moment of the attack - snuffed out _in_ a moment."

"So fragile" sniffed Mission, and then retreated into silence.

"Are you sure there is no survivors? Perhaps in the lower city. Those people we helped?" the last part asked pleadingly.

"I walked the surface of planet...like the Exile did and there was _nothing._ _Nothing."_

Mab swallowed rapidly; Carth pounded his fist against his leg "Hyrule! Hyrule dammit!"

"If it helps" said Reven, a hint of helplessness in his eyes "you will get the better future you were striving for. A better future will be made out of the materials of Taris, formed out of it, on that planet. It will not be recolonized, but reborn."

"It doesn't help." said Mab; Mission remained silent; there was a sense that she and Reven had spoken of this before.

Reven struggled for a moment_; "_Can I get you alone now"

"Yes" said Mab, and they walked out, together.

"I wish to go to the old temple today. Do you have time?"

"Now?"

"If at all possible. I have a feeling things are going move rather quickly afterwards - I have prepared."

They walked down a flight of stairs - "Let's go right at this moment then."

"Excellent. There is a craft near by. We shall take it."

They reached a room by the exterior of the building - sitting in it was a small silver craft, delicate, gleaming. Reven motioned, and doors on each side slid up; they both slipped inside, Reven into the driver seat - leather, cushioned - Mab into the passenger. There was an array of holograms of front of Reven; he manipulated them and waved his hand through blank air as well - part of the room, a circle with the car in center, swiveled leftwards out of the building, moving sideways, becoming a platform at the end of a glowing arm, the point of pivoting.

The car was flung off the platform immediately - that disappeared instantaneously as well - flung, not blasted, not propelled but flung, pulled, yanked, _acted upon_, it felt - it spun, dropped, and twisted, and then joined and left, and merged with other other lines ( a vague description for something that could never fully be described with mere geometry) of traffic, all of the vehicles filling the air like shrapnel from an explosion going every direction, wildly - Reven sat, conducting motion, arms flailing, swishing, swaying, head thrown; he seemed to be enjoying it - there may have been other reasons for him driving personally instead of letting the Traffic System AI* take over, but his own exhilaration appeared to be the primary one.

*One could only drive on Corusant if they possessed at least at Level 14 intellect - it was not surprising to hear a taxi driver, as he ferried his passengers, speak of galactic politics or eloquently on the topic of philosophy.

They passed the Senatorial Chamber, Reven briefly slowing down - a gigantic plot of land, bordered by four - one on each side - wooden gateways (simple posts, with a beam across), huge, topped with dragon heads - in the center of this square was aged wooden caps, floating, red, the ancient paint cracked.

Eventually they fell out of the madness near the Jedi Temple, the blur ending, as if they had suddenly popped out of one realm into another, popped from one plane of existence - of speed, dizzying speed and motion so strange, so removed from every day experience it felt abstract - to the slower one they normally moved in. They spun around the temple three times, and eventually, still rotating, came down onto a small stone porch, landing, gyrating into place. The pad came off of one of the five towers of the temple - towers of simplicity, towers of stone, beautiful, smooth, expertly put together.

"We have to go inside" said Reven quietly, a hoarse murmur. They entered the gap in the tower -

"Upwards. You're vising... the Council Chambers."

All was white, pure, yet there was a darkness - there was no internal light on at the moment, and thus shadow existed. They moved forward through the halls, to the foot of a short staircase, and began to climb - the building was sleek, modern, made up of elegant angles - they reached a landing, and move forward down a vast, smooth way - Mab, looking, could tell the Jedi had constructed the place by hand, with limited tools, although she marveled at effort and skill - she was thinking this when she noticed Reven make a movement.

A figure appeared - it was a women, sickly, rushing forward quickly with her head down, twitching and talking to herself - she held onto her black cloak tightly as if she was cold or wet - there was dark shadows under her eyes - the hologram system must have been manufacturing, for there was a slight blue cast to her, and blobs of light, thick, almost liquid like, slid, sparked, and fell off her body, leaving trails behind her. She walked with them.

"The Exile!"

"Yes."

The representation of the Exile continued to accompany them, as they moved forward and upwards - Mab, both by the apparition, and the place itself felt haunted - there was a lifeless depression - a stripped emptiness.

"Why is it so empty?"

"The Exile first created silence here. And perhaps she found she liked it."

"Everyone? Everyone in the building?"

"No. I was in the building at the time. No, she murdered the council members, if I can be called that. _That" _a spitting emphasis _"_ is why I had to form a new one."

"How? How does she do it? "

"_I don't know_" said Reven passionately. "That is what we must find out. It is a grove here - a haunted grove. You must go to center. We are in consecrated grounds, of a new religion. We are in a...unholy place."

They continued upwards, through echos, through vast, unfilled air - there should be spider webs, there should trash, debris; it was ancient, it seemed ancient and abandoned for years, and yet it was clean, fresh - such a bizarre contrast; she was to the point of not believing her eyes.

"What do you sense here?"

"Just a feeling - that something happened. Terrible -"

"Yes. And we going to the source of it. Perhaps there a vision will be sparked."

"- And age. Decrepitude. No a lack... of... I can't describe. But it makes it old, forgotten. A history - a history of forever nothingness, etched in the space between objects and movement. "

She stared at The Exile - the shaking, lip biting creature, overwhelmed, completely overwhelmed eyes, broken eyes, scared, flinching eyes. She felt pity, but more so an intense fear - she was watching her _become_ something - she watching an awful transformation and it filled her with cosmic terror - some creature, squirming in a chrysalis, the shell nonthreatening in itself, but the cracking cocoon, and bulges beneath, terrifying - some tumor beneath the skin, growing, moving - not the body horror felt at an alien alteration, but the horror at a mind, dissolving, altering, transcending, this process showed in the twitches of the face, the insanity of the jerks, the soft, defenseless mewings of her internal pain.

`"We are here."

They were by a stone door - Reven caused it to slide open, and they entered a room topped with a glass done - a lattice/framework cutting it into long panes - a ancient stone rock in the center, covered in eternal sigils, markings, a lightsaber stabbed into the middle, inconspicuously. Chairs surrounded it - over it a metallic loop - stainless steel - a circle of lighting panels. Mab looked - the floor was first yellow, then red, a circle around around the pillar - both these were covered in silvery etchings of orbits of symbolic planets and celestial bodies, orbs that were important creatures of time and space.

The room was completely dead, like nothing she had felt before - it did not radiate, it did not pulse, it did not call in any discernible voice, and this is why it could not be understood fully, or prepared for, for it was simply an absence , a utter rent in mundane existence - she came to realize how much she relied on this daily presence, this bulwark of life. Two thoughts went through her mind "I truly am a Jedi " a feeling of subtle pride, if the force and all that composed it's permeation of matter and was built upon this permeation affected her so when missing, and, at a hysterical pitch "what happened here!"

It was a windless place. It was a desert. It was heart that did not beat, a heart that opened to a bloodless, hollow center. Life was all around them, normally - and this was as mannikin is to a human - instead of being moving, dynamic, a mere figure of a building. A mere figure of space, removed (forcibly, she knew in the depths of anxiety) from human life, concern, emotion. It was not touched anymore. It was not connected. It did not breath. It had been strangled. Something had placed it lips upon the mouth, upon the source of exhalations, the source of scents of passion and story and build up, and sucked. The vapor had faded away.

Mab looked at Reven - The Exile, which had been paused, now moved forward once again, through the Jedi Master. "Did you know why we have called you here?" a voice spoke - Mab turned - five figures where now sitting in chairs of white with red strips - a women dressed in white, brilliant silver hair, an elderly man, liver spots, stubbly, a brunette women, a balding man with a huge handle bar mustache, and longer shaggy hair on the sides and a muscular man with a crew cut, and a clef in his chin.

The old man had spoken.

The Exile was the only one flaking, losing bits, leaving behind drops of plasma, of blue lava - the others were clear.

"I came because I chose too." she croaked, miserably.

"You have started a war - an act of defiance. Your call has undermined all we worked for, for centuries." said the shaggy haired man.

"Did you finally realize how much of a mistake you made?" said the white haired women with absolute disdain, shimmering aggression beneath the surface - it seemed like she had been waiting a very long time to say this. It seemed built up, and she could not restrain it any longer - for the whole meeting she spoke in terms of a outburst.

"I had to" said the Exile, speaking like a women once confident, but now having lost it all.

"And I am told a great number of your fleet was sacrificed - and almost the entire Mandlorien race destroyed in some - plot. What have you done? What exactly have you done? We have felt the screams from the galaxy! What have you become?" continued the women.

"She has gone against everything the Jedi Order stands for."

"We are guardians of peace, Vuncroy! You have turned our gifts to absolute destruction!"

'Has the horror you wrought caused you to see truth at last!" questioned Atris.

"I see...something. I've come...to receive punishment, yes, but only because I need - help. Understanding. Something -"

"You will receive punishment, yes,, but it will preclude you from whatever else you desire. " said the old man.

"Know that there is no turning back from this judgment. You can not live comfortably with it - you can not incorporate it into your life."

"You are exiled, and you are a jedi now longer."

"But -" she looked around frantically, steeping back. "I need your -"

"We cannot help you" said Vrook. "Not now! Not with your apprentice beginning a war! We sense it, even if she does not consciously think of it! Not with other dangers lurking. You would only drag down anyone who tried to assist you. You would - " he paused and turned to the others. There was a brief moment of non verbal communication, and he silenced himself.

"Why? I can't - I can't sleep! I can't eat! _ I can't touch the force!_"

'It is your own guilt!" shouted Atris, standing up

"Be mindful of your feelings, Atris" said the shaggy haired man, quickly.

The muscular man "You must leave immediately. We cannot help. You deserve only exile."

"You could learn! I know some of my followers are falling - you could learn about them!"

"But with that knowledge, as useful as it may be, comes another knowledge, knowledge of you - a dark knowledge!

"We should not let her depart. ." said Atris, meaningfully. "Even it it is to the edge of the galaxy, as we demand. The field of death she has created should have been her grave as well. That is the way of things. That the natural order. The balance."

"It is the decision we have come to. She walks a different path then a criminal - a simple murderer.

"A more dangerous one."

"Tell me" shrieked the exile. "Tell me then!"

They turned to her. "No." whispered the brunette. "Perhaps in time we can teach you how to heal yourself. Perhaps we will call you again before us, when years have passed."

"There is one more thing. " said Vrook. "Your light saber. Surrender it to us."

Mab felt a thrill of terror at this - foreboding. The Exile moving forward, paused - something occurred to her, an act of rebellion - she ignited the blade, blue, and walked to the pillar. She stabbed it in - and then she began to scream - she was broken in her thrust, something opened, shoved into the light, released, accidentally, unintentionally, unknowingly - she could not let go, she was unable; her body was thrown back, her hands still in contact with the hilt, as if glued, as if she was being electrocuted - her head was thrust upwards, and she howled, ghoulish, unearthly - other screams joined, in the end, and the holograms flickered - flickered and shifted, on one plane, 40 degrees down, and then all light disappeared.

Mab looked at Reven in horror, moaning.

"The footage ends there. The Exile fled the temple. She fled the the planet. And few weeks later, the attacks began."

"They... they just... They all died?"

"Yes. _ I_ promoted myself to Jedi Master - although it had been discussed; it was per the councils plans - and went to search for a new council. Nine months it took me, but I finally assembled them. Then I went to confront the Exile, as precautions had been taken. The battle lasted three minutes." he said bitterly.

"It was as if we were on two different planes of existence - two creatures of completely different dimensions. We couldn't meet - I couldn't even..." he paused to articulate his thoughts " I was below and she was below; I was a two dimensional object and she a three - how could I possibly defeat her? Operating on a completely separate level. It was like nothing I had ever encountered before."

"She... she strikes through the Force?"

"She kills. That it is all I know. And when I examined the copses of the masters, I felt no sign the Force had dwelt within them. That life had ever dwelt within them - wax...statues Mab. . Taris has become a world of wax. " he seemed to want to say more.

Mab, vague anxiety growing, moved forward, near the pillar -

- "Yes scientifically, blood has flowed, brains had sparked, but through...my soul I was not convinced. Can you imagine the isolation of a planet of this unconvincingness? This unreality? It's hard enough... looking at someone's eyes and feeling in your being that there is a mind behind them, feeling a little less alone... but..."

She, thinking of how the Exile had convulsed holding onto the light saber, exploding, bursting, being ripped apart, reached forward and touched it - there was bright jolt of light, behind her lids, and once again in first person:

_ Children running across a grassy plain, a large yellow butterfly. Reven in a large active crowd, in an open courtyard, the Exile present as well, lost in the crush of dealing and talking, jostled like everyone else. A jungle in flames, meteors from the sky, "How could one imagine such...burning." "It was a a complete defe -" "We will kill EVERYBODY" "War!" Men and women charging; blown to shreds "Your optimism will collapse quickly, I fear" A bunker of droids "No one ever said this was going to be easy" A fresh dessert environment, oasis spotted "How long has this being going on?" Bastila looking in a mirror, trench coat, cheeks flushed, hair in a bun - "Bao Dur, we need to begin considering the invention of a super weapon - if we can lure them - " The older women with silver ringlets, walking with the Exile and the Disciple "One knows themselves in war. And learns of others. It is a dance - my husband taught me of such dances...and the terrible truths they can take." Malak, gigantic, bald headed, wearing a thin piece of cloth showing off his muscular arms; he swung a massive staff over his head, rocky squares on both ends - A Irodinan, soft spoken "I've gone over the plans, General" "It is a mistake to" -Bastila "This is only the beginning" shouting to a crowd "To leave the order - " said the older women, holding her hand over a candle " The Exile holding apart Reven and the viewer, the viewer's hand on their lightsaber, Exile weary - "If I catch you here again, I will have you imprisoned." solemnly, sadly. "The boys healing abilities are faltering - I have taught him all I can." "Activate it." Shadow. Mass shadow generator. A scream; a frenzied image of blood coming out of a nose. Armies marching across an empty dessert, a valley of tombs and catacombs. "The only sensible act of an organism is suicide. And with my abilities, I've seen all organisms are truly one - the only sensible act of this galaxy is coordinated suicide. We will become one body and plunge ourselves into the abyss, march unified by my will into it. I will feed her. I will serve her."_

_ "You are the darkness in which all life dies, m'lady. It sacrifices itself in your wake."_

When Mab came to, she was being carried down a flight of stairs by Reven, whose left eye was twitching, and who had a far away, dazed looked in his face.. He stared in surprise "I must have picked you up - spontaneously. I know I brought you here to have the vision, but I wanted to protect you - take you out even if it went against that."

"I knew the risks when I choose to come here. Put me down." He did so "Did you see -"

"Most of it" he blinked both eyes rapidly, spasmodically, once, and then assumed control of himself "Yes, most of it."

"Before it fades -"

"It will never fade." He said. "I doubt it...severely."

"Well still - is there a planetarium here? I know you are hiding something from the council, don't deny it - we can do it here, we can plan it here; no one is watching, this place isn't in any networks. Use all the computers information without any drawbacks- "

"Yes...we can find the planetarium, figure out the locations in your vision... -"

" - and plot a course of travel."

" - to the planets and spots seen" he said and she nodded; both were of one accord.

They took a quick turn, and were now walking with purpose, not a sense of trespassing; still they kept their voices low. They came around another corner and to a white archway, at the entrance of a wide, lofty room. Both entered inside; out of the smooth floor protruded a simple fixture, slim at base, opening at the top, a nozzle- a few inches of the ground. Reven conjured - the fountain spewed light upwards - through lack of maintenance and debugging, it was extremely faulty - the stream composed of fuzzy motes, dots of black, a swarm. It formed into a solar system, a ring of squirming mossyness - vague planets, orbs of unpleasant darkness - he gestured "Dantooine. Where Malak and I were trained during our very last years , the Exile knighted, the Disciple apprenticed, Bastila taught... the war effort begun..."

As he gestured the solar system (that had materialized when the program was opened) went into the background, joining more planets already present, tiny, unobtrusive hints, and one planet appeared, grew out of nothing and came up close, looming - there was a hint of green to it, the rest a glitch - Reven rotated it and then motioned for it to go to one side.

"The jungle. The formations of the troops - the mudslide - did you see the mudslide? It had to be Dxun. The first real battle. And the first time the Exile realized... what exactly she had gotten herself into. They lost that battle. The Republic lost."

Dxun appeared as well - a thin line of black, like a link of buzzing flies, connected Dxun and Dantooine - spidery numbers lowered and raised near both planets and on the line - Reven continued manipulating.

"The dessert. I... Yes. It's was Serraco. About halfway through the war. When they realized just how badly they were doing - and acquired knowledge of my network."

Reven poked at a couple small screens, and Serraco appeared as well; he moved it forward a little, and pulled Dantooine back.

"We can go to these planets. And try to figure out... how the Exile became the way she is. How she is training others to be like her; how she is still breaking captured Jedi's wills, and reshaping them. Where this is happening? And how to stop them. Permanently. "

"You're seeing a lot of Arren Kae ; my old master. She was on the Exile's small war council. She followed her lover to war. She's... at Korriban now - which is also the last planet you saw. The tomb world. The first planet the Atrocity Army and the Graveyard fleet took."

"She is there as a Sith?"

"No - as an observer. She has a... mission, of some sort. I know not."

"What of this Bao -Dur?"

"Yes... it's the first time I've heard of that name. This could be an essential piece." Reven typed and poked rapidly at the space in front of him; the four planets were looped together, saved to one side, and more appeared and then vanished, in beads of sickly, disgusting smoke. Systems rotated and spun; prototypes vanished and burst into existence.

"At the end of the Mandlorien war, there was a disturbance in the Force felt by many. Since then, few mandloriens have been found. And no Republic soldiers know what occurred. I thought perhaps the Exile delved into some terrible technique, that began her fall - but a super weapon... It could -"

To their right a box filled with faces scrolled and flashed - numerous profiles went by quickly. They were skulls, simplified, bare faces, covered in wisps of night - the layering technology was another casualty. Bone and near bone came past over and over again, a hellish montage - finally a man with horns, wreathed in the same shadow, it dripping and rising off him, remained. Reven grabbed the box, moved it, pushed a pop up, and entered in a code, and then rotated a couple planets and keys. "Bao - Dur. An engineer under the Exile's command. He can be found - working at Excess Station IV over Priglrith, making planetary shields."

Reven brought up this last final destination, and then looked at all five, moving together, rotating together, numbers and letters floating over all of them, little boxes of information pointing off.

"The journey is ready. We know what we have to do. Dxun, **Korriban**, Dantooine , Serraco, and Excess Station IV" He grabbed the five planets, and stretched them apart, two in one hand, three in the others, pulling them away from each other. At a certain point a box popped up with various coordinates and times.

Reven stared for a minute, and then abruptly said "let's go" grasping at the air, and throwing the holograms (which were pinned together, as he grabbed them, compressing them, in a jumbled mass of conflicting and overlapping lines and shapes; a tight bag, clutch, filled with math) at his right arm, his personal computer.

* * *

They had been sitting for thirty minutes, in the hospital, speaking and planning - Reven looked up suddenly "They have assembled."

"That was quick." - he had asked for an audience with the Jedi Council as soon as possible.

"They were all in the near vicinity."

"Is it normally like that?" - they had gotten up, and began walking to the Sentinel Cathedral - they sitting quite near to it, waiting.

"They've been waiting for something like this."

Inside the castle of shadow and stone, the museum of candles.

- At the start of the stairs: "I want to leave quickly after this meeting, regardless of what happens. I have ship. We can grab Carth, Mission, and the droid."

- "Now, my proposal is that we travel to these planets together, with a crew, but you stay within the ship, or some suitably place, while I explore and search. We can communicate telepathically, through our bond, and I can train you to see through my eyes." They were nearing the council door. "You will be able to experience the worlds without any danger to yourself - and when I come across something -"

" I am not going to be _kept! _Like a house spouse! Like a child!" an old rage came up in her.

Reven looked at her unnerved, shocked, but before he had time to compose a reply, they had walked into the chamber and were greeted. He went in off his feet. unbalanced; Mab went in fuming silently.

"Master Reven. Mab Argonbirth." said Nomi - the full council was assembled, including Vima, as a hologram, in the stone seat next to her mother.

"Master Sunrider." Reven bowed his head - "Masters" inclining it towards everyone else in the room.

"The purposes of this meeting? Our next scheduled one is not for another week."

"Mab and I went to the old Jedi Temple. She had a vision there. I have in mind a special, secret mission, where we travel to the planets in her vision, and attempt to unravel what she has seen, and provoke more." He held up a small chip of crystal.

"Well, this is a bit forward, but give us the data, your plans, and we'll look them over. Perhaps we'll put together a task force."

Reven heisted, pulling back the chip slightly - "I will go with her."

The room was astounded - Jolee stared down, Nomi turned away and whispered "so it begins" - a crescent moon dolphin whinnied softly, to itself.

"You've been maneuvering us this whole time." said Nomi, terribly.

"There is no reason for me not to go."

"There is."

"Then say it."

Nomi paused - Mab realized now the bemusement of the council members; it had been that way at the last meeting, so obvious, but she had not noticed it before. Now it was laid into place. There some interplay going on between Nomi, Jolee, Reven, and perhaps Vima, that the others weren't privy to.

"Say it then. In front of everyone. But otherwise if you don't, if you can't -"

"That's a pretty weak trump card, wouldn't you say. A pretty weak last play."

"It will suffice."

Nomi paused, and then changed tactics "You want to be bonded with some one like this? So imperious/ He will dominate you. That is all he is capable of."

Jolee "Do you want the bond removed, finally? We ask you again. We say it is in your best interest. Especially to stop this madness."

"That's not what's necessary!" she cried. "Dammit all! The way to stop me from getting consumed isn't to hide me away - the solution to all my problems: train me! Train me as a Jedi, fully! That's what you would do if you really cared!"

"It's not that simple, child" said a thing of fur and eyes, directly in her mind.

"It is that simple!" Her moment was coming, and she felt clear, focused passion! "Train me or I'll refuse to help! I'll hold it hostage! I'll hold my power hostage! I will not sit on a ship! I will not watch from a distance! Not any longer! I can defend myself against anyone - if only I learn!"

Reven turned to her in shock and surprise, but quickly, his face changed - he grew acquainted to the idea, suddenly, accepting of it, delighted of it and it turned to pride. He turned back to the council.

"Do you have a ship? A crew?"

"I have ship, yes. And individuals in mind."

"We shall send a liaison." said one of the council members.

"he's not going at all, curse it" said Jolee.

"No liaison. I want full control. Only Jedi I pick."

"No Reven!" said Jolee.

"Of course you would Reven!" said Nomi understandingly "But this is something that must be pushed past, must be dissolved, not indulged."

"I did not ask for this! None of it!"

"What she needs is clarity. You will only confuse her."

"I am part of her life now. For better or worse."

"For worse Reven!" said Nomi, pain in her voice. "But it can be changed! The bond is not destiny, it is not a noose yanking you along. It is only a connection, that can be changed."

"You will yield." he growled, anger growing. All had been leading up to this moment during the previous meetings and encounters; there was sense of a line that could not be recrossed approaching.

Jolee vaunted to his feet, exploding.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing! Do you have any idea how wrong this is! It is wrong!"

"I" bellowed Reven, pained _"I HAVE TO MAKE IT RIGHT!_

"We are the Jedi Council!" Jolee's hand came to his lightsaber; Nomi stood as well. The rest were utterly lost. A friendship had been broken, shattered irrecoverably.

"I brought you together and I can take you apart! We come now to a split! I will go forward! With your permission or without it!"

They both stood, staring at each other, painting, tense. Nomi put her hand in front of Jolee's chest. Reven turned and left; Mab came after him. He paced out of the room, furious.

"We will find the knowledge that the old council plugged their ears against. We will find this knowledge; the knowledge that everyone, everywhere needs!"

"Knowledge can be dangerous Reven. Destructive."

" We will harness it, use it...

_Together."_

**NEW MISSION: Discover the Exile's Secrets.**

* Find Bao -Dur

*Find Arren Kae

*Go to Dantointe

* Go to Korriban

* Go to Dxun

*Go to Serraco

**NEW MISSION: Assemble Crew and leave ****Coruscant**

**NEW MISSION: Train to become a Jedi.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Loose Ends/Friends**

Another room, different, created out of the shifting puzzle of the skyscraper. Blue, floating pieces of white and pink, fluffy. All five were there - Carth - the brown trenchcoat, faded at the elbows, threadbare , a favorite, picked up at random from Taris, over a set of casual cloths, a orange jean jacket/vest and pants - the center of the conversation, the vortex.

"And why me?"

"And why not you? There are plenty of reasons why, but if you are going to focus the thrust of your argument in that manner, I ask why not? We need a pilot - I am running this like a military operation, you know the protocol, there needs to be an Observer over the computers and systems -"

"T3 would be the Manuel to my Observer, I presume -"

"Yes, you two would run the ship -"

"But there are plenty of others -"

"Yes plenty of other people who would be liabilities, who could be leaks, when they are let into my council, when I let them into this circle, this party. Secrecy is a virtue, Carth - keeping you the pilot limits the number of those in the know, since you have already traveled with us."

"I came pre-packaged it seems -"

"What does he know?" asked Mission curiously. "What do any of us know of importance?" making a point as well.

"Everything" said Reven vehemently, and then responding to Carth "We all come pre-packaged to certain roles, delivered to fix certain problems. It is the Force, it is duty -"

"Then why not someone who uses the Force, Reven?" asked Mab, leaning up against a wall - she felt for Carth, and wanted to extricate him, and at the same time was a little hurt by his denial, lending this question a slight cruel, cold edge, dismissing him if he didn't matter - non the less, Carth looked at her gratefully - they were always one team, they always had each others back.

"That would do the same - widen the circle. And I do not want any Jedi that aren't essential to the mission - they'll interfere, they'll have their own plans, based on their own observations."

" And I wouldn't? Last time I checked I had a brain on my shoulders, even though it is one that is befit of a mystical connection - can't remove it like a chip out of a droid, my gray matter is turned on permanently - know how sad that must makes you -"

"Regardless" irritated - "Being a non- Jedi means there are certain things that can restricted from your access."

"I'm sharing everything with Carth if he comes with."

"In time you will learn discretion."

"Maybe you will learn friendship" retorted Mab.

"I would settle for respect" said Carth, a stiffly. "Perhaps I should demand it - like Mab made certain demands -" turning in her direction.

All three stared each other, Carth offering a smile towards and receiving one - the air had lightened, a bit of playfulness added.

Reven paused -"This is embittering to you", he said towards Carth, a different, softer tone -"I... I had not looked into - what is the problem? What am I missing-":

"I was suppose to be done for six months - after Taris."

"Yes. It's clear now. I'm sorry - I avoided -"

"Maybe I have your respect then - i just assumed you were blasely reading our minds at every second -"

"it wasn't out of respect" said Reven softly, gloomily, turning away. "It is harsh... Will you come? You have the choice - and I envy you for it." more to himself.

Carth paused. "I will come." He shook his head as if waking from a dream - astonished -" of course I will come."

"Good - for a second there I thought you had become complacent, flabby - that you were surfeiting on the love of your family, in a sort of softness -" He spoke sharply, delicate, careful in his venom, his cutting.

There was extremely awkward pause.

"_My family"_ heavy emphasis "is what keeps me going. And I've been fighting for years - more than you - I have more decorations then you, I've done more. The only reason you - " Carth hesitated -

"Say it."

"The only reason you're in a position is because of your power, not your selfish striving. I've been on the long dusty road, and I know you need something at the end of it - the shock of it suddenly disappearing after seeing it for so long as a hope - well it was a little to much. I've composed myself - I'm acting at my appropriate level now. Don't worry about me... or my flab. "

"...Excellent." And although Mab wished he would stop, and Reven himself seemed reluctant to go on - to her piecing perception - he continued. " Good, because there are some in the universe who feed on it, who find the "flab" as we've taken to calling it" - conciliatory, but the result was icy, neither smiled - "as a meal. They sizzle the fat, they cook it- it makes them salivate. It's a dish. it draws them in as prey. I need a strong crew - a harsh crew. "

"So you say. But the fate of the lean doesn't seem to be any better" He stared directly in Reven''s eyes at the word lean. "They die all the same."

"Yes... -"

"Reven, you make it sound like I'm not going to be able to come" said Mission in terror.

"Of course you aren't coming, darling."

"She's coming" said Reven, slicing the silence.

"What? No! First of all you contradict yourself - "

"So I do. But she's coming"

"It doesn't make any sense -"

"She can work on the ship as the quarter master. All we have right now is a extruder, true, but we will pick up supplies - not here, I wish to leave as soon as possible - but at another port. She can run the vessel when we're gone and busy, purchase furniture, equipment - she has mechanical and repair skills as well - she will be a useful addition."

"Reven, there has to be some kind of place we can leave her at - probably with the Jedi. She can learn and grow -"

"I am not leaving her to the Jedi" said Reven passionately "I am_ not_ leaving her behind."

"It doesn't make any sense to me"

Reven turned to Mission "She... they can rail all they like - in private, later -" he said, turning to Mab with a powerful glare "but they won't change my mind. You're coming, don't worry. Pack your things."

"They already are! I was worried you'd leave me behind if i wasn't ready in a second."

Mab felt a swift stab of pain go through Reven, and she herself was touched as well - it was pure foolishness however, to take this urchin with - she was also a little outraged at how Reven always got his way so easily, but she used to it as well, accepting - and there were certain things she would not concede. That knowledge - of the line, the secret strength inside - allowed her to deal with his imperiousness, to watch the proceedings - the preceding every day, of his indomitable will exacted ruthlessly, without question - with a certain amount of detached calm.

Carth, responded to the "they" - Reven had turned to the gunslinger briefly at it -" said "I don't...quite agree with it, but as long as she stays on the ship, I think it will be fine. And she does seem like a good crew member. She can keep stores and help T3 clean. Speaking of the ship, can we go see it?"

"It's connected to the building. We'll leave soon - but first there is one other person I would like to convince to accompany us." Reven turned as to go, doing this, inserting the artificial pause and wait, so they would come along with him, preferably at or near his side.

"I want to talk to Serik as well." asserted Mab.

"Serik" said Reven distractedly.

"T3 and I were thinking about going to see him" said Mission - "We just forget I guess"

"We haven't gone to him once" said Mab, the full weight of this dawning on her - guilt " I think we at least owe it to him to check up on him before we leave."

"Very well" said Reven coldly, not disguising his repulsion at this idea - "I have reports - he is recovering. The serum reacted negatively to his biology - I feel this is most likely because of his species."

"Where is he staying?" asked Carth (across a bridge of hard yellow light over a gap; the building had split, a piece of it separating, budding off)

Reven paused, thinking, and then began to close his eyes -

Mab: "I know - he's somewhere around the northwestern side, same floor as us. I had been looking for him a couple days back - the nurses around there... they had fingers marks, deep in the flesh, on their arms and neck. And a bit of a unnerved, on edge skittish look in their eyes. Obvious sign he was somewhere in the vicinity. I'm sure he was terrorizing them deliberately, and then pretending it was accidental - so he could hurt them without them resisting. Cover it up with an eccentric manner. So if it hasn't moved -"

"It hasn't. He's in room 21B12."

"Great."

"Let's make it quick."

"He helped us off the planet Reven. I don't think we would have accomplished it otherwise."

"For his own personnel gain, may I remind you."

"Really - see how far this has gotten him. Laying in a sick bed - real personal gain there- alone, possibly dying.

"Torturing the medical staff"

"Look and he left the planet to help it - I feel you are glossing over that."

"Yes - just like the Bandsaucian Merker, feeding his herd good food and making sure their safe - to _help _them. That's what it's for."

"No one is altruistic to you."

"Perhaps - perhaps everyone's true motives are selfish, but his come from a place that is vicious and savage."

"Well why don't you tell that to his face. I'm sure it will help. Make him feel good. Just what the doctor ordered." said Carth dryly; they were standing outside of their door.

Reven looked surprised, and turned to Mab. "You have a tendency to make me forget where I am."

"And you one that makes me forget where I'm going." There was a slight smile on both their parts.

- "Oh, and Carth, I will tell him - he'll be delighted. Preen."

They entered - Serik lay on his side, turned to the energy wall away from them - a dark green color. Beginning in it, deep, suspended, blooming and spreading, and then protruding out of the exterior in folds were light pink flowers, like plant jellyfish. He was covered in nothing but his simple, brown ponco, dragged over him, slipping a little off the shoulder, revealing the start of his scaly, plated spine, knots of great muscle and tendon.

"Mab... and the others."

He turned to face them, rolling - Mab recoiled slightly - his eye and the skin around it, on his forehead and cheek was still deformed - the flesh flaky and gray, crumbling, the eye expansive, pushing and shoving away everything else, jumbling and compressing it together, compacting it in rolls and folds and squished, protruding meat, huge, bulging, a sickly yellow.

"It frightens you. Good...good."

Mab walked over to him - determined to glide over or ignore his strangeness, and at least try to be compassionate - and reached - "Are you okay?"

He grabbed at her from underneath the blanket - the fingers, monstrous, wrapped around her forearm. It was horrifying how he perverted, preyed upon, exploited the most simple gestures of sympathy and kindness - she did not think he could help it - or as philosophers on free will would say - more specifically the conflicting biological freedoms of various species, how they compared and related - he didn't want to help it. "I am good. Yes. I will survive."

"Why aren't the droids orbiting you - why do you have a physical blanket?" Her mind quickly flashed to thoughts of specism - prevalent and constant because of her stay on Taris - the second reason for this vague jump was the soft, low, fleeting idea: "are the other Jedi like Reven...? - a visual of the brown nurses treating the Transodoscen with the same cold disdain.

"The droids were adjusted to the heat that would give me the most pleasure, make me the happiest - I became like a creature sunning on rock. Yes... like a lizard sunning on a rock - Just like a lizard Mission; no reason to hold in the chuckle - "

This had the opposite effect he - or at least his words - seemed to intend - she paled and stared away.

It was...delightful, yes, but I find... I need harshness. I need - harshness, perhaps to spark the fighting spirit, I need it - to destroy this demon venom inside of me. And destroy it I will. I have been struggling for long hours."

...I told them I enjoyed the smell of my blanket - it reminded me of home. While this is not necessary untrue, it's real purpose was for them to call their machines away - advanced they are, but I doubt they create scents at the level my species can. If I told them I didn't want to happy - I think they would I was insane - it certainty more of argument. I don't waste time convincing and debating people who are suppose to _my _servants_._ "

"Do the nurses visit you often?" asked Mab

"Yes - they are force users. They seek to heal me. I enjoy their presence. They are unlike droids - in so many ways."

Reven seemed to realize the meaning behind this - or read into it one that was his own -" Well I am glad you are _thriving _on their companionship" pointedly.

"Yes. I hunger again. I eat again. It alarms them." hew said almost conversationally. "I will grow stronger, and keep growing. I will consume and consume - I see their fear of me in their eyes - my...hungry vastness. I... rule here, like a lord in court. They hover around me." he said this pleased, but also as if this is how it should be - there was nothing revolutionary about it - all was in place.

"What exactly is wrong with you? We all came back fine -"

"The transformation was painful - it...broke me. And I did not return whole, or in my original form. I have been mixed, mutated - I am thing blended, various snarling parts all in disarray. When they brought me here if they would have acted quickly they might have saved me completely - but instead they tied to comfort me, make me feel good" contemptuous "- when will those with the power to heal by destruction arise?" the last part a off the cuff, light remark."

"I hear the the Exile is looking for new recruits." said Reven sardonically.

"Yes... but she does not heal at all... and it is not destruction she uses either. She is...like many women of the human race I find - he paused delicately at this, smiling sinister at Mab, trolling for a response - " She prefers to smother than attack. To steal the breath, the life. No, no she not my master. She is in fact my greatest enemy."

Can you imagine how terrified they were, how intimated they were, when I learned of Taris' demise. One wept in fear. I was _awful."_

"I'm sure you were" Mab said, thinking she understood him, trying to connect dutifully.

He rolled onto his back and grabbed her, wheezing deeply from his chest, staring into her eyes "Don't patronize me - when I want your respect, which comes only in shivers and cries, I will take it from you, rest assured..."

She extricated her arm gently. "Very well. My apologies. I"m sure you were very sad - how about that? I feel for -

I'm sorry. " He shooed his head, lost. "I am... not in full control. As you humans would say I feverish. Metaphorical of course, on my part.

I smell your fevers by the way. How they delight me - that one thing I am missing here - the Jedi are to controlled. Tight asses. Their assholes are tight." His eye rolled slightly - "I feel we are pushing our welcome. You need rest."

"Rest? No - I surfeit on it."

"Regardless, I think we should go. I just wanted to check up on you and say - "

"I don't need your thanks. Be gone then, if that is all you come with, carrying in your mouth - like an alligator carries teeth cleaning birds. I don't want to hear their weak chirps, not truly your own, not truly inside of you and your fangs are clean enough I find, the 'thank yous' have perhaps done too much - perhaps have chiseled some away with so much cleaning. You are toothless. Your mouth full with them, the fake creatures. Nothing you say means anything - if I actually asked you for something you would deny in, it a song of birds." The last part with a slight hint, a timbre, a vibration of a self pitying whimper, a bit artificial - a facile whine, thick,rich, indulgent.

"Serik - " began Carth.

"What do you want -" began Mab, and then changed her tact - she did not want to play into whatever he was setting up. He could ask himself - "Good luck. I sincerely hope you get better. You have a great mind - perhaps you can put it to use on Coruscant."

"Yes... I plan to eventually. The nurses whisper sweet nothings about my future in my ear, about their plans for me, arrangements - once again, my future is something I seize. Tearing my part of the future from the whole - it leaves the edges jagged, rough, covered in blood."

"We'll see you around - I'm sure." They turned to leave - "Wait!" He cried out in a voice hoarse, vicious. "I am coming with you."

"I don't think so friend" said Reven quickly. "You are -"

"I am strong! Every day more and more comes to me. This too will pass, I am climbing out it. I will be lucid - and you do not want me lucid and not in you company - for I will use that sanity to plan your - No. Excuse me! Excuse me! I want to come with you. You leaving, yes. Somewhere. Your ship needs a medical officer, if it's a mission. Is it? It is, isn't it."

"I -" began Reven.

"He has a point" said Mab. "he is gifted."

"But will he really get better?" said Carth

"The reports say yes. And I sense heath in him - How much of his illness is he using to exploit?" Reven came close and kneeled down "No more of this, Serik. You may have gotten away with it with the nurses - none of it on the ship. We aren't here for your amusement. _ And stay away from the girl_"

"I need to come with. There is no cure. It's entangled - in my soul. Wrapped around it, like a DNA helix of barbed wire. I need to travel with the greatest Jedi of the century - you can cure me.

And I want more."

"You want to pay back The Exile. Harm her?"

"Such a being can't be harmed. What does she have to lose. Nothing. That is what allows it. That is what allowed the act. I simply wish to stop her."

Reven paused -

"I am sick because of you."

Serik let this float in the air.

"Yes. You can come with us. You're right Mab - his mind is sharp. Carth, will you help him onto the ship. I will give you - "

"I do not need help." said Serik. He grabbed the staff near his bed, and stood; his poncho slipped, but he caught it, the fabric bunched up in his claw. It hung down from his stomach to his feet, revealing a strong chest, scarred with age.

"Very well. T3 go with him to prepare the ship. Lead him. Make sure no one stops him. We be along shortly - hopefully no more then a hour."

- "Serik. The ship. Be careful on it. Do not - it has gone through much. It has a - it is a harmful place I feel."

"What exactly did you get it?"

"I will explain in time."

Reven stood immobile for a moment, looking around at the rest of the group - "There is one final person I believe we should retrieve - an individual who will be of great utility to our mission. He was on The Exile's council - he has given us all the valuable information he posses, but merely having someone along with us who was there as the events took place will surely have use. He's been here, in seclusion, the whole time - healing they say, although if it's taken him three years and counting, I doubt how much healing he is actually doing. Rest perhaps...nothing but rest - which is...unlike him."

"On the War Council..." said Mab, racking her mind.

"An old... comrade of mine. A Jedi Knight - Malak."

He gave another broad look, covering all of them "Shall we?" He held up a hand - "room reset"- the walls began to melt away, the flowers caught in a suddenly appearing beam of light, a substitute rectangle surrounding them, seizing them, and then retreating, the beds and equipment pulled into the walls - a circle underneath them opened up and they fell, once again, Mission covering her eyes, a slight exuberant "weee" escaping her lips. They were deposited on a floor of red, which moved beneath them, a magic carpet changing direction and angle, taking them along a pre-set path through obstacles that proved to be not so barring -

"There's a building whose walls are composed entirely out of waterfalls, I've heard, and passing through one is like moving through a fine mist, cold, or a sharp prickly cascade of tiny droplets, thrown your way by the wind - the computers modulate the intensity and type. Here it's nothing - not even a warmth or a shiver - " said Carth -

"And we ourselves" began mission " visited one that was made out of butterflies - that flapped against your face as you walked where there were no doors - where there were doors, it was an open space, ringed by... well bouquets of colorful insects!" pleased with her description.

"You had to push slightly (responding to the first part of Mission's sentence) - but they yielded with a grace - and it felt like... what did they say?"

"A lover's eyelash batting against one's cheek - many of them, of course" said Mission, blushing moderately.

"Why aren't people starving?" grumbled Reven.

"What?" asked Mab incredulously, a chuckle in her voice, a smile on her face -

"Why aren't people on this planet starving? Then I could at least complain about all this ridiculous, sentimental decadence."

Mab laughed - "With the phrase " how can we have buildings out of living creatures, _when there are people starving_"

"Exactly" said Reven, a hidden grin.

Carth: "The flip side of social injustice ah"

"One of the few"

A stone cube neared closer to them, a light brown on the outside, a pillar of light, of infrastructure on top of it, to the front a gap in the ceiling for many stories, a skylight. It emphasized the fore space in gold; a shower, transmitted and bounced through the twists and turns and openings, to walk through. There was no door, only a reddish brown curtain, on golden rings, aged by light - Reven stopped by this boundary, took a slight breath, and pushed it aside.

The room had signs of a long habitation, and along with that, of a man who valued comfort, a sort of cluttered, plush comfort of many things. There was a balcony of stone coming off, letting in a great beams, the walls were lined with tomes of paper and leather, and scattered about where many wooden desks, chairs and sofas, (one a few where dumbbells and exercise straps - there was a huge metal weight by his bed) and collections of flowers and herbs in jars, vials, vases, tubes, and balls, most of them smoking - incense. On one wall was a primitive kitchenette unit, archaic - a pot of water boiling - and a few bags of food - many utensils and tools hung over or jutted out of drawers - he cooked by hand. Mab focused on the shelves first,and noticed many of the pages of the books were mismatched, and thickly cut - that is some extended further out from the spine than others. One that was open - with grand illustration and lettery - revealed that the writing material was mufti-layered, home made, composed of separate pieces pressed and molded together - flower petals.

Flowers and plant life of old, flowers of dust, flowers found in brittle secret places, flower and plant life that crumbled at the slightest rude touch, releasing fragrant odors - Mab had a vision of the man - she caught a slight glimpse of him, he was a strange, melancholy giant - walking - she also saw his staff - on the sides of building, on secluded roofs, and through ancient corridors, when health permitted, dim faded lands, a slow, leaning wanderer, searching out and finding these fragile fountains of a dying scent in corners and dead ends, and collecting them, as fragile as he - so knowing how to handle them, with infinite gentleness and sadness - bringing them home, and either crushing them with a fist, a magician preparing a charm potion, or delicately working with them, pressing them together - a large book was spread wide on a spindly desk, and across it's pages a dark brown beetle raced, creating looping letters - there was also an inkwell, and a quill with a great feather near by - he did it manually as well.

At the glimpse of Malak she realized the room was also that of a man who paced, of a man who spent long days inside, a man who was trapped and surrounded, and switched his position many times a day, to no avail. A wounded monk.

He lay in a mighty bed, head propped up, reading a book - naked (and Mab was instantly attracted to the strong, clean lines of his body - unlike Reven, his muscle and strength didn't deform him, hunch him in and down, but straightened him) - his skin was a yellowish pale color - droids orbiting him, projecting beams.

Reven glanced at the bots - "The setting on warm bath? You were always a hedonist, Malak" his voice as restrained as ever - she felt his emotions as slight vibrations in this taut, unchanging line, and nothing more.

Malak closed the book and turned, staring in surprise - the back of his head was covered in a metal plate, (from it came four blue gray strips, tattoos, two across the prodigious dome of his head, to a little above his eyebrows, the others by the sides, curving, shorter, these pointed at their ends) and over his left eye was a thick scar* going all the way to the cap - his left arm was also mechanical, and while his legs were muscular and healthy, Mab sensed in them no tension, no energy - they was unused (which explained the massive pair of Walkers next to the bed, by the cane and long staff - bright yellow, like a construction droid, where the boots of blocky steel) There was a ruined grandeur in him, a weariness, she saw - like a great house come undone, like the groaning of a wooden ship at sea.

* She was surprised to see a scar on him - she only saw "permeant" wounds in the midst of isolated battlefields, and cut off planets under siege. Normally a scar was the mark of the lower class - on severely socially stratified planets - or those attempting to emulate them - she remembered one boy in her school - perfectly able to heal himself, with full, unhindered access to cheap, easy medical help - keeping a scar on on his cheek. He also had slicked back hair, and carefully modulated thuggish ways - shifty, sneaky - rat like, a skinny thing. It was especially unnerving to see such a thing on a Jedi - plain ugliness was something else of course, expected perhaps. Jedi were known for not altering their faces, and so uncomely visages became almost honorable among them, like heraldic symbols, great noses of power, great chins of a vanity free mind - as the sentinel cathedral readily attested to: a sort of beastly grandeur, an intricate, complex, faceted ghastliness.

Malak looked up from his book and turned in shock "I sensed you coming - but... I thought I imagined it."

"Do you often imagine old friends walking about?" laughed Reven.

"It appears so" said Malak, losing his momentum, a sort of trailing, slow whisper, as he turned towards Mab, his eyes widening - he was punctured, he was penetrated and softened.

Reven moved quickly, back and forth, like a predator pacing, or weaving a circle of death around some eying prey - a wary, slow moment. Carefully: "This is Mab Argonberth . She is helping on a mission - she is...an oracle."

"I'm behind the times it seems, Reven." His face beginning to flush, mouth opening and contorting, stretching more and more.

"Yes... we have catching up to do."

"Many things have been kept secret from me -"

They stared at each other, and Malak broke the silence, turning to Mab -"Hello Mab "his eyes intense at the moment, something dramatic on his mind, some gigantic feeling occupying him "my name is Malak."

"Malak, I know it must be quite the excitement seeing me again. I... my heart" Reven face grew a strange expression - it was placating and yearning.

Malak turned to Reven, his brow furrowed and quizzical. "You're bringing together the entire war council, I presume. Kae as well?"

"yes, all that aren't dead or turned"

"It is a small group, Reven - I think you can just use their names." His eyes constantly darted towards Mab.

"...All but the Disciple and"

"_her name"_ Malak face hardened, and Mab saw a terrible temper beneath his surface, a terrible righteousness - an angel of justice. She realized his twisted forehead was not demonstrating confusion, but was the start, the sign of a seed - a seed of rage. She had misinterpreted his facial expressions - something she realized more and more she was doing.

"And Bastila. All but the Disciple and Bastila Shan. I killed her, or as good as killed her. I broke her and struck her down." (Now Malak was avoiding her all together - deliberately not allowing his neck to turn. She felt he was not even peering out of the corner of his eye, as he had been doing previously - it was as if he was man completely ashamed or hurt, and ignoring someone fully. He was focused fully - with an air of this being purposely, the result of volition - on Reven. )

"Did she deserve it?"

"Her crimes -"

"That's not the question - "

"I did what was necessary."

"_Did she deserve it"?_

"She was your friend Malak! You are not unbiased"

"Don't use that word! She was more than a friend. She was a comrade - we walked in battle together! She saved my life multiple times - she bleed for me!"

"Yes, she was more! Yes, she was your leader; she lead you and you followed blindly -"

"I was gone before the slaughter of the Mandalorians; you know that! I was wounded before that and sent away" and Malak grabbed and dropped his legs in absolute frustration.

"There was atrocities before that! I know! _I know! _Atrocities I have never revealed, to keep you safe!"

"Did she -"

"Yes! Yes! ( in a strange voice, a husky bark/yelp, higher pitched than he normally spoke.) What I've done will save lives!"

Malak continued to stare, but leaned back, as if some battle was won, exhausted. Carth could contain himself no longer; both his excitement and his desire to cut the intense tension: "General Malak, you don't know me, but I served in the Mandalorian Wars, and it is honor - "

"That title... I don't find a pleasing anymore." Malak looked away. "I don't find it something to hold onto."

"Non the less you did great things" said Reven; his body was slumped, energy released, once again conciliatory.

"Did I?" asked Malak - standoffish.

Reven stared at him, as if looking as some disaster, a hint of horror in his face - as a direct result of this, as if it was the next step, he pulled a chair near the bed and sat down - he spoke in a voice that was the most emphatic she had ever heard from him, leaning in "Malak, how are your injuries? It's been three years; why aren't you walking again? Why are there still burns on your back?" Reven had forgotten the rest of the group completely at this point; Mab felt excluded, and a very uncomfortable watching - Mission had backed up more and more, until she had snuck out completely.

"The grafts and limbs haven't taken - my body rejects them. And I don't want...more machinery. I don't want become more of machine then I already am - I am afraid... I won't be able to hear the pump of my own heart at some point - I'll forget what it sounds like. And it won't matter anymore - I won't even care.

"When you travel with us I can heal you, I believe - we can work together on it. Kae as well - you know her, you know her abilities."

"Many have tried, Reven."

"Yes, but they don't have the same connection that we have - we are friends"

"Are we Reven?"

"You left me Malak - it wasn't my fault -"

"A man learns things in war; gains perspective. I didn't say we lost our friendship because of... the parting or what caused it. That was your choice - I made mine. Maybe I just gained a better view of who you are, over the course of time -"

His eyes strayed over to Mab

"i can explain everything -"

"I ordered troops to their death, I sacrificed ships, and destroyed the rings of planets - just to hold them. The coldness I did it with - the way I used the troops - they way I used_ everything_ - _it made me think of you._"

Mab felt a deep bolt of explosive rage rush through Reven - he swiveled his body to the three and spoke coldly, imperiously "_Get out."_

_"_We'll meet you down the hall?"

"It doesn't matter. Get out."

Carth and Mab moved away quickly - as they left they glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows "Holy shit." said Mab.

"That - "

"He shouldn't have invited us."

"He - I think he really expected Malak to give him a great big hug - and then he could show to us it was just like old times...the two rebellious padawans, Malak and Revan." Mab said, feeling a surprising truth in the statement.

Carth looked at her appreciatively and began to say something - Mission revealed herself from around the corner " I hate conflict" she said, head pointing downwards.

"Don't we all."

"Some people seem drawn to it" said Carth -

"And by some people, do you mean everyone in this party?" asked Mab,smiling. "_Soooome people_" she said, drawing the word out, deepening her voice, and gazing at everyone; they chuckled.

"Honestly" said Carth "it's just when you have people with a lot of power and energy, and you compress them together - the compression being the forces of stressful situations -"

"Some people just shouldn't be in the same room together -"

"Ever" said Carth, and they all laughed again.

"It was like that with the Bosses on Taris - they were their own universes... and when they collided - it was always an event..."

"Everyone's an universe. And it's always an event" said Carth

"You and your romantic generalizations"

"hey I've see it all"

"Yeah I'm sure you have - oh Mission" said Mab, turning with concern to the girl. "I'm surprised - you haven't removed your tattoos yet - I figured for sure you would do so before we left."

The girl played with the keys of her wrist computer - ( she had just gotten one, and had only taken a few classes on Faculty Focus {a sort of philosophical/psychological doctrine to avoid data overload, and the frantic parceling of days into nothing by bits of stimulation and information} - meaning it was still a compulsive distraction, a dangerous, degrading one she was mastering slowly - one that still had her fingers, however, dancing meaninglessly, eyes pulled by fishhooks of songs and pretty models. What she was doing was giving attention to these things as a sort of avoidance - a new, modern age blush and aversion of the eyes, the aversion of the eyes this time not to a blank space, but a colorful one, and the blush a splash of color across a screen, instead of a face. Indeed this habit - of avoiding socialuncomfortableness - was one of the first cautioned against) for a little bit before hesitantly volunteering information about the mad curving pattern of black, still not looking up fully - eyes blank - when she did so - "Yeah, I figured - I can't just scrub away my past. I have to confront it. Live with it. What better reminder than one my skin? I've decided against it completely. I'm a hundred percent sure - I'm going to keep it."

"That's a unforgiving philosophy - Revan's been influencing you, hasn't he."

"I think he's a genius" said Mission - a bit defensively.

"He's in conflict with his own past right now." said Carth grimly.

* * *

An hour later Mab heard the two men coming.

"You still wear a suit" asked Reven, a sort of happy wonder, nostalgia in his voice.

"Yes I do. You stopped I see."

"Yes. I wore one to Dxun. It was burned off me. Besides I've moved beyond that. Just like the books - they are Fetish Items to me."

"There is noth - "

"You always liked that sort of thing, I realize, as I think back. Trinkets."

"You were quite the fine dresser yourself."

"Now... you know where the word fetish came from? Primitives - and current days mystics, of course - used to carve small figurines of pregnant women, and phallic gods. Fetishes. They were people, the best, most evocative beings. That primal beings at the heart of the race. That's the only thing I need. That's the only thing I need to surround myself with, carry with me. People. "

"But with you they would still be an object in the end - just a statue, enchanted to come to life and dance for you. Still an object, at the root. Carved by you, and brought to life by you. At least with my books I acknowledge that. At least I acknowledge that I transcribe them myself.

'I can't believe that" Reven said; said to the whole concept, the whole idea Malak was advancing of his character. They stepped into the room; Malak wore a finely cut black suit, with a red tie - over it was crimson leather coat, glossy, stiff, buttoned down - the opening bottom, which swished out, revealed that his pant legs were covered by intricate metal chassis, a wire frame - the inside of the yellow boots - the rest of the contraptions floating behind him. He swung his legs widely, and marched, stomping straight, using his cane as well - the rest of his room ceased to drift behind him and Reven, and went, on circles of light, down another hallway.

"Normally I have the entire device attached to me, and I can hop along like a jackrat - I felt like actually walking today. No doubt it was soon become too much of a burden to bear. "

He moved closer awkwardly, a production - and held out his hand to Carth. "Hello Mr. Onasi... and , I am told." As he stopped in front of them, there was several clicks, and parts of the bars shifted or moved slightly.

He clasped both her hands in one giant grip - he was huge, larger than Reven; a broad shouldered tower. "Mab" now turning to her " - Revan's told me of your gifts. I'm glad I've had the chance to formally introduce myself." He held the shake longer than the others, staring with fascination - and then he let go, and looked away, once again an act of suppression or aversion.

"We should leave - it is overdue." Mab felt a slight tension in Revan, and then a large circle containing them began to move towards the edge of the building - it projected out, fully, the air and breeze hitting them, and then began to move around the spire, descending. "It's quite easy to avoid people when you can move through an ever changing structure" said Reven - "Never have to say hello, or make small talk. Or I should say, never have to respond to small talk that is really a disguise for something else." As way of explanation "There were a few knights looking for us. More questions, no doubt. I've had my full of them - it's time for action. It's time to do."

"Malak, did anyone from the council ever visit you?" asked Mab.

"A few times - for nothing but information. I gave them what they wanted - I talked about the council, my injuries, Bastila and Vuncroy and my journey... back to the Inner Core on the medical ships. The great leap frog back; the entire army leap frogging back. And... I spoke of what happened on the medical ships...

"If I may ask - how where you injured?"

"Near the end of the war the ship I was on was ambushed. Every bone in my body was broken - I was technically dead for a few days. Floating, I believe, in the gap of space, for little bit. And now... the lower part of my spine is still not functioning. _How it hurts _- " he said, the last part sudden, a quick cringe of agony, a plaintive suck of air, child like in it's honesty - the yellow gadgets behind him quickly floated around his legs, and then drew in, forming huge boots, like that of WM almost, mech like - then Malak began to levitate, and several pieces once again came off, shifting, assembling, and projecting; an active jumble, like a bunch of blocks, not fitting together, forced against each other by rubbing hands - within the movement - Mab spied, past the distractions - the wire frames were now opening up, and thin, limber pieces, moving as manipulators, were folding and molding his leg into a lotus position - the yellow pieces, at the end of all their transforming, now where formed into a chair, a levitating square that projected with a slope forward and backwards.

"The chair is my common mode of transport - the boots are for combat, and quick, controlled movement - although let me tell you, the few times I've tested it out it's been wild; a real ceiling banger - and the frames are for simple standing - for when I would have to give speeches, or present in front of a crowd, the engineers told me." He gave a bitter laugh - "Wearing the boots or the frames - it's too much pressure, it's too painful - a trembling tension, racing up my entire body."

The platform continued to circle; eventually it melted back into the building at it turned - it slide in. They walked to a wall; it folded open and there lay the ship - a semi circle of metal, two engines; off of this semi circle, from the middle of it, came a long rectangle topped with brown, pointing horizontally forward. To the left of this rectangle, connected to it, was another rectangle, this one shorter and stoater, on it's side; it was bordered by a ridge of brown as well. Truly it was a curving shape, almost an extension of the semi circle (not exactly however, it was slightly smaller, shrunken) with the ridge 2/3 of the way through; it continued curving until it reached the end of the ship. To the right of the main rectangle, the cockpit, was a space, and then another shape, short and stoat as well, also curving to the end, with a brown ridge on the side facing the cockpit. WM-33 stood away from the ship, guns raised -

"So the rumors are true" said Malak, looking upset.

"Correction: No fleshtube of girthy proportions, the rumors are false. The reality is far more terrifying than gossip would lead to believe -" The droid lit up one of it's guns at this point - a buzz.

"You slaughter my old soldiers - you reap them like corn in a field?" said Malk, turning to Reven quietly.

"They are your soldiers no longer - I've meet them in battle - there's nothing left of them. For only a few could I even claim delusion as their motivation - their is darker corruption for the rest.

- Put away your weapons WM. You'll frighten the civilian populace -"

"Interjection: But master, you have your weapons - I see your flimsy light saber attached to your belt."

"My sword is a symbol of grace and dignity - people feel protected when they spot it - you on the other -"

"Guilt Causing Statement: So I should simply hang my head in shame, master, and hide away - I all one giant weapon after all. One bloody death machine. "

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea" responded Reven flippantly - "Get on the bottom

of the ship - we're heading out. And no, don't, as we fly over the city, aim your weapons and make killing noises, don't loom like some terrifying apparition, like some -"

"Helpful Suggestion: Metallic bird of prey master. Oh, master, we've had this conversation so many times - the definition of civilian is far too broad. I can't kill innocents, that restraint is far to embedded in me, but just change the meaning of the word, tweak it just a little -"

"I prefer not to at the moment"

"Declaration: Loyal service deserves to rewarded master; I hope you keep that in mind."

"I was thinking a nice retirement, WM - maybe in the body of a cleaner droid -"

"I'm sure Mission wouldn't mind having an intelligent doll" said Mab

"Profession: Oh master, how you wound me. I feel...so unappreciated." WM skulked away, slipping itself underneath the ship, and folding itself together - lifting the vessel slightly.

"I see this creature enjoys it's job" said Malak, disgusted.

"Why create something that doesn't, if you don't have to?" asked Reven. "There's...enough slaves in this battle... in this galaxy."

"Yes, and why not enjoy it yourself, if you can - while you're at it. Right? Or perhaps... why not just let all feeling fall away?" said Malak, staring piercingly - Reven turned away.

"Let's get on board." A door opened on the ship and a bridge folded down, from the rectangle coming off the cockpit line - at the same time the rooms ceiling rose, and the exterior twisted and then vanished. "Welcome... to the Ebon Hawk."

"Where did you get this ship? Why this one in particular" said Mission eying the battered hull, the dull colors, the strips of brown - the grayish steel came in many pieces and flaps; only the brown strips where solid and smooth. "It's a smuggler ship, isn't it." She walked towards it with apprehension - something was off about it - there was a reason Reven had chosen it.

"It's extraordinary fast ship - one of the fastest on Taris" said Reven, dropping this last part delicately.

"Why Taris?"

"That is why I went, mostly. To find a ship that we could travel in. Travel the galaxy. As coincidence has it, WM encountered this very ship hen he first captured - it was owned by The Exchange - a testament to it's value -'

"Enough! But why! What the fuck Reven!" becoming visibly upset -

"We will travel the galaxy enclosed, encased, within nightmare metal - encased within whispers. This ship is part of the planet that Exile killed - it is a piece of this emptiness. A space that flies through space - a piece of nothing that jet through a physical nothingness. We journey in it - a journey of torment. Our theme is the Exile - we most be surrounded by her at times, constantly in contact, constantly influenced - we must be haunted. Haunted in halls and in bunks , haunted at every corner - alone. Alone with nothing but the fire of the stars and soundlessness of the abyss - "

Mab had continued walking along, and was now up to the entrance ramp - she slammed her hand against the side, hitting metal. "Masnifest dammit! It will be miserable - you're making us miserable!"

"Yes, misery! Yes! This isn't joke, this isn't an adventure; your going to see things more terrible then any of us - it isn't game. This is the Rubicon, this is the boundary right here - don't cross it if you think this is going to be easy, don't cross this line is you can't stand to surrounded by coldness!"

Mab shot Reven a look of loathing and frustration, and walked in - Malak caught her arm - "We can talk of her. I can tell you all about her. And we figure this out - maybe it's better this way. We can use this as a deciphering stone to solver her mystery -" He followed her in. Carth went afterward, running his hand along the metal, head cocked, as if listening to something - Mission came, hands around body.

They entered the ship like people walking into a dark cave.

* * *

They sat around a metal circle in the center of the ship; a hologram projector which Reven had slotted in the information chip. T3 and Carth were moving back and forth, preparing -

"So this the remnant of her attack; a chunk of what was lost, removed from the whole -" said Serik (the man wore a wrapping on bandages around his right eye, at an angle, taking up more then half of his forehead, not covering his nose - a few of the strands hung loosly)

"Yes" said Reven irritably

'...I will use it to remember what she did exactly to the rest of the planet... There will be no vermin here; I think that is the clearest evocation, what will make what she did real, what happened the most real to us - there will be no vermin on board."

Reven looked away, displeased at Serik realizing this, bringing up this point, detached as well - "Yes...The ship was cleaned before hand... It was littered with carcasses."

"This ship is so creepy!" said Mission

"Reven doesn't want us to be happy" said Mab, biting her lower lip, glaring. Part of what Serik had said - "a chunk of what was lost" resonated with her. It was true - this was a shard of death, this was some tumor removed. They would travel in this piece of madness - it was worse then just visiting the Old Council chamber - it would be with them always, and they completely buried in it, at all angles - it was claustrophobic, contricting - devoured by ghosts, swallowed by spirits - they were trapped in it, and Mab had visions of her wandering the halls during long hours, disturbed and filled with ennui. The ship would set the motif for their wanderings - it would set the mood, and turn them into a crew of the guilty, the sinners, the walking wounded. It would gather them together into this category - it would set this shared attribute above all else. Her fantasies of fun, family and a budding relationship with Reven, where he eventually opened up to her, were utterly crushed - more so because he so clearly demonstrated his intent to oppose that and develop something else - she was enraged,

"Your happiness is not my concern."

"We're stuck here" Mab said -

"We'll get used to it" said Carth, passing by.

"I hope not -" a breathy, furious pout.

"Where are we going first, Reven?" asked Malak - Carth already seemed to know.

"Korriban. To find Arren Kae. I think we should find her first - my master has always been near the edge. I fear she will fall - I don't want to risk it. She knows much of many things."

"Was Kae your master as well?" Mab asked of Malak.

"No - Kae raised and trained Reven since he was five - every time we met it was precious. Kae and Reven traveled a lot, so this happened fairly frequently - Kae was still a historian at this point, wasn't she?"

"Yes - "

Well, at age 15, he left her, and traveled a year with other masters - we were always good at bossing them around, deciding where we wanted to go, so we were always near each other, we always intersected and met up." He chuckled " Sixteen we both stayed at Coruscant, and then at 17 we went to Dantooine. Kae used to teach there, before her travels - we thought maybe she would have returned. But no, her school, her offices, were closed down - Dorak took her position."

"Did you guys have contract with Bastila?"

"Bastila was on Coruscant with us, and Dantooine as well, when the war was beginning. She was very opposed to our efforts -"

"Bastila was opposed to everything" said Reven, turning away.

"Perhaps only everything you did - with good reason." retorted Mab.

Reven stared at her blankly, and then stood up - "Carth, are you ready?"

"Yes, I think we can leave -"

"I'll go check up on him" said Mab quickly.

She walked down the hallway to the cockpit - Carth stood at the control board, rotating and examining holograms and figures, as per his position - T3, Manuel Pilot, made {and examined} physical changes to the ship and it's hardware, while Carth observed the computers processes - together they made sure that what the computer reported was true, actual and that it was operating correctly - a danger - one would say the only danger - in war; corruption of the AI, of the sensory devices - that is why ships which could be operated automatically, at a distance, were so large and redundant (and why personnel were not enhanced, and did not use advanced equipment; so that too could not be tampered with - they only wore devices that prevented this very assault) ; it was a fantastically complex system all the way up the military ladder to verify reality - a program of checks and balances, for if such a weakness was exploited even once an entire army could be easily destroyed (the Republic of course were experts in this, and demolished with ease forces that did not use this style of warfare.)

Every function of the ship had a physical, accessible reality, and every function of the ship could be sustained physically, by hand - the basic heartbeat of a fleet was controlled by AI, and individuals in VR projecting from safe planets, but if for some reason this ever had to be cut off, or began detrimental to the heath and goals of the fleet, the soldiers inside, scurrying constantly, ants within a tree, could keep it alive - the pumping of a heart by hand, the pumping of a heart with a clenched fist.

*the overarching symbol of the Observers (which was a prefix to a position) was an eye over a stream, while the symbol of the Manuels was an telescope over a wrench, with movement marks - three white lines - behind it. This was the type of work that was generally needed to prevent the the entire army from becoming a reckless machine that could march into destruction without anyone noticing, with all bound to it - it was also in place to prevent the development of some sort of possible enslavement, or at least to have ways to combat it.

"You look snug" she said - the man wore gloves, and an orange hat, pulled out of his pocket in crumbled ball form.

"It's cold in here, isn't it."

"Yes it is." she said, swallowing. "How long to Korriban"

"About three weeks, actually - It's right on the outer rim."

"Manifest, that's a lot. I'm going to go insane in here, really."

"Hey; you can practice and train. It won't be that bad." He paused - "Actually I don't know. I don't know what you're going through. Let's... let's talk sometime. My rooms always open. I want to understand."

"I don't think I can explain it. It's like - how would you explain the absence of something, that other people can't even sense. The sudden absence of sight to people who have never been able to see - it's not just blindness, it's something worse - it's a gap, it's more conspicuous. There's the knowledge of the loss - Ah whatever - look, are we picking up supplies?"

"Yeah, we'll swing by a spin launcher. - here we go" Carth pushed enough button, and they lifted up, and then launched out of the building, spinning upwards into the sky, into the blue and green, directly at the moons, directly at the artificial stars of the orbiting machines - " Reven doesn't want to stop anywhere in this area, but later we definitely will. Mission has a whole list of things she wants - she's taken it quite seriously. She even wants bacon - I haven't had bacon in ages - thought was just something on my planet."

"Malak said he would like to cook too - "

"Well that's great - we got the dreamer, the dreamer of foods she's never seen, and then someone who can put on a little show making them. One is inspiration, the other can carry it out - With those two, it seems we have enough creativity - "

They laughed -"We should probably pick up an entertainment system as well"

"Fill this place with some noise"

"Be good wouldn't it."

"Yeah" said Carth thoughtfully "Yeah I think it would.

* * *

They shot past the horizon, into space - all of them, Serik, Malak, Carth, Mission, Revan, T3 and Mab stood by a window looking at the retreating planet - it glittered with the lights of energy towers and billions of flowers; circling it were skylabs and stations; docks and villas, in constant orbit, rotating in themselves, shining as well, donuts and balls and triangles and lines; the water between the deep building sent off a blue, sparkling light - it was an orb bursting with color, constantly shifting and undulating, red and orange and purple and green, waves moving and roll and spreading -

"The City of Jewels" said Carth. "...This...this is what we're fighting for."

Revan stared a minute longer, and then walked away, towards his room.


End file.
